Descent into Darkness: The Gathering Storm
by Ariel D
Summary: Story 5. “Your heart bleeds too much mine, not enough.”—A.E. Entreri’s and Jarlaxle’s troubles with Mordecai have just begun, and Mordecai turns out to be only part of the problem.
1. Chapter 1

**Descent into Darkness: The Gathering Storm **

By Ariel

_Description: "Your heart bleeds too much; mine, not enough."—A.E. Entreri's and Jarlaxle's troubles with Mordecai have just begun, and Mordecai turns out to be only part of the problem. Drama/Angst/Action. Rated R for violence and mature subject matter. _

Disclaimer: Jarlaxle, Artemis Entreri, and all other recognizable characters belong to R. A. Salvatore and Wizards of the Coast. No challenge to the copyright is intended or should be inferred. Tai and Nyx, of course, are mine.

A/N: This is a continuation of "The Specters of Our Pasts" and begins one tenday after its epilogue. You are free to read this story as a stand-alone, but I don't recommend it. If you do decide to start here, I warn you that Entreri and Jarlaxle have undergone character development beyond where they are in "Empty Joys;" also, I ask that you be patient with the returning original characters.

This fanfic refers to the story "The Third Level" from Realms of Infamy,_ in which we learn that as a child, Entreri was sexually abused. Please remember that I have chosen not to include the events of "Wickless in the Nether" in my fanfic universe; therefore, _Descent into Darkness_ is categorized as mildly AU. _

**Update, Oct. 2006:** Obviously, this fanfic was written long before the release of RotP. Like I said in the above paragraph, I based my fanfics on "The Third Level," a short story RAS wrote back in 1993. In that story, fourteen year old Entreri remembers being sexually abused by three people, not just his uncle. I will not change this story in light of the revision in RotP, so simply take the difference with a grain of salt.

* * *

"_Now that I consider those discussions, I recognize that you rarely offered  
any advice. In fact, you rarely spoke at all but simply listened."—A.E._

**Chapter One**

The 15th of Tarsakh, 1369 D.R.  
_The Year of the Gauntlet_

The approaching storm hovered overhead like a miasma, turning the sky into a steel-grey that contrasted remarkably with the spring foliage. The tree leaves seemed luminescent against the nearly black clouds, an effect created by a flicker of sunlight from the west, but the green seemed lost in the growing ocean of darkness. A lone young man sat on the black marble stairs of an abandoned wizard's tower and watched the spectacle. The scene of the emerald leaves against the dark sky was so brilliantly colorful that it seemed more like a painting than real. For minutes the young man simply stared, not allowing any thoughts into his restless mind.

The choice to keep his mind still was a conscious one. If he allowed himself to think, Tai Vatoshie, priest of Hoar, would have to admit to himself that he was at the tower where he'd been raped fourteen days earlier. He would likely see, in his mind's eye, the sneering face of the drow cleric Mordecai as he knocked the dagger from Tai's hand and grabbed him.

Tai, however, did not allow that picture to form in his mind. He did his best to not think about where he was, about what had happened to him here, or about the fact he refused to enter the tower. It had been hard enough for him to face Mordecai during the fight twelve days earlier . . . although he'd done so successfully.

_Focus on your breathing,_ Tai told himself, remembering the training his uncle had given him. _Straighten your shoulders; breathe through the nose. Touch the tip of your tongue to the roof of your mouth . . ._

"They are nearly finished," a deep voice commented, and Tai nearly jumped.

The young priest had not heard the approach of the voice's owner, but that was hardly surprising. Artemis Entreri always moved silently. "Very well," Tai replied, secretly glad the man had arrived and distracted him. Keeping his mind clear was proving more difficult than he liked.

Entreri sat by the priest and crossed his arms on his knees. For long moments, his gaze seemed to rest on the tossing trees and dark clouds. Streaks of lightening raced through the clouds like veins, filling the entire sky with a pulse of life, and the howling wind and the rustling leaves filled the momentary silence. "The storm will be upon us soon," the assassin commented at last. "You'll be drenched yet again if you remain outside."

The words were not said with either concern or admonishment. The words were not said with any inflection at all—Artemis Entreri rarely allowed emotion to infuse his tone. Tai also knew that the assassin was not bothered by rain and would not care if another were wet, which would seem to make his comment quite strange. Tai suspected, however, that there might be words behind the words, something along the lines of "You do not seem well." Of course, the assassin would never say such a thing—would never even admit that any subtext existed behind his odd observation—and this was why the priest of Hoar turned to the man with the faintest of smiles. "I do not enjoy being here."

Entreri nodded once, and Tai knew nothing further would be said. After all, in the past fourteen days, neither Entreri nor Tai had mentioned the word "rape." In fact, the few words that had passed between them relating to the incident had relied completely on unspoken recognition: Entreri knew what had happened to Tai, and Tai knew that he knew. The priest was profoundly glad that they could discuss something without discussing it—that Entreri could understand what Tai meant without any explanation. But when the assassin accepted Tai's reply without comment or censure, the priest found himself wondering why. And how. How did the assassin know when to be quiet, when to not ask questions, when to stay or leave? Why did he understand? And how or why was such a normally heartless man showing Tai any patience or compassion at all?

These questions—only a few of many—had plagued Tai more than once in the last several days.

Entreri and Tai sat silently, allowing the wind to buffet them, and waited for their companions. In an attempt to gather information, Jarlaxle and Nyx were sorting through Evendur's scrolls. More specifically, the drow and the monk were attempting to determine the location of a relic called _Kagaor ki Tamal,_ the magical mirror sought by Mordecai.

The group's first goal was to find the powerful item before the drow cleric could get it, but this goal—at least in Tai's mind—had become secondary to their other objective, which was to kill Mordecai. The young priest knew that he and Nyx wished to kill Mordecai for . . . assaulting . . . him, while Entreri and Jarlaxle wanted to eliminate Mordecai for his attempts to kill them.

But Tai found himself desiring that the two mercenaries had a further motivation: he wished that Entreri wanted to avenge him as well, and he wished Jarlaxle cared that he'd been hurt in the first place. In his current state of mind, the priest didn't feel hopeful on either count, although he had to admit that Entreri had been unusually angry when he had learned what had happened.

Actually, perhaps Tai was wrong to think Entreri did not want to avenge him. He had said, after all, _"Mordecai will pay for what he has done. He will die for it."_

Tai held in a sigh. Entreri avenge him? No, it was too much to hope for. Although, strangely, Tai found himself wishing for it all the same, despite the fact he also wanted to attain his revenge personally.

"The longer Nyx is inside the tower, the angrier she becomes," Entreri commented after a lengthy silence.

"That's understandable," Tai replied. "Evendur was her friend."

"Jarlaxle is having to tread carefully," the assassin continued, a slight note of amusement working its way into his tone.

Tai's chuckle was so faint it was more of an exhalation. He looked up at Entreri, who was staring at the storm clouds again. The assassin's steel-grey eyes were the same color as the sky. For a moment, the priest simply watched the man: the edges of his black cloak flapped in the wind, and a strand of dark hair had escaped his ponytail to brush against his cheek. The wind blew a leaf onto his arm, but the assassin ignored it and kept his attention on the lightning-streaked sky. A man unbothered by the elements; a man born to wander. A man who Tai dared to call friend, but not to his face. "Today is my birthday," the priest said suddenly, not even realizing his intention until the words had left his mouth.

Entreri glanced at the priest. "It is?" He seemed to falter for a moment. "How old are you?"

"Seventeen."

The assassin nodded. "Does Nyx know this?"

Tai was vaguely amused by the man's total lack of interpersonal savvy. "No."

"You should tell her." Entreri's tone turned faintly derisive. "Given that the two of you are friends, I suspect she would want to arrange a celebration of some sort."

Tai raised his eyebrow, briefly wondering if Entreri and Nyx would ever get along. "Maybe."

Entreri hesitated again, just as more streaks of lightning raced across the sky. A clap of thunder shook the air seconds later, filling the assassin's silence. Tai got the sense that Entreri was struggling with their conversation and wondered why discussing birthdays would prove such a difficulty for the assassin. Had he simply spent his life _that_ divorced from humanity, or was there some other reason?

"What would a celebration entail, should Nyx choose to have one?" Entreri asked at last. He paused and titled his head slightly, as though a question had just occurred to him. "How do they celebrate birthdays where you are from? Or do they celebrate them at all?"

"I'm from Tethyr, although my father's family came from Unther originally. And, yes, they do." Tai found that his birthday held no meaning for him this year. It was almost as though he were grieving—shock, numbness, anger, sadness—all the emotions he associated with his brother's death.

"Unther?" This seemed to capture the assassin's attention for a moment. "Did you not once say that Hoar is an Untheric deity?"

"Yes. He's known as Assuran there."

Entreri nodded as though he were perhaps confirming to himself some question he had wondered. "I see. So birthdays are celebrated how?"

Tai felt a faint grin threaten his lips at Entreri's attempt to show interest. He was so very stiff! "Much feasting, much wine. Song and dance. Stories of family history." The priest sighed. "In my family, at least, the birthdays of all those family members born during the same month are celebrated on the same day. In my case, my older sister, two of my cousins, one of my aunts, and I were all born during Tarsakh, so my family celebrated all our birthdays on the ides of the month. You see, since all the birthdays were spread throughout the month, they figured that celebrating in the middle of the month would be the fairest, even though it did give me an advantage."

"Because your exact birthday was always celebrated," Entreri said, drawing the obvious conclusion.

"Precisely. So my birthday has always been a type of holiday for me." Tai grew somber again as he felt a pang of homesickness. He hadn't seen his family—not counting his uncle—but twice during the past six years, and he missed them. The monthly writing and receiving of letters was a pale substitute.

"If it's that important to you, then you should tell Nyx," was Entreri's only response. "Actually, Jarlaxle is likely more suited to planning a celebration. You should be sure to tell Nyx while Jarlaxle is near." The assassin smirked. "That half-mad drow would no doubt enjoy arranging the festivities."

Tai's feelings about that suggestion were conflicted; he had been uncomfortable around Jarlaxle for many days now. Not only had Tai overheard Jarlaxle make a suspicious comment to Mordecai about his companions, every time Tai looked at Jarlaxle, he couldn't help seeing Mordecai. It wasn't fair, Tai knew, but he couldn't seem to stop the impulse. "So when is your birthday, Mas—uh . . . I mean, Entreri?"

The assassin was silent for many moments. "I do not remember."

Tai bit his lip as the implication of that statement sank in. Unlike Tai, Entreri had apparently not had a loving family to cherish him and celebrate each new year of his life. Perhaps he had not had a family at all. "Were you an orphan?"

Entreri gave the young man a hard look, and Tai held back a cringe, realizing he'd overstepped. Still, the assassin answered. "No. Not an orphan."

The tone of Entreri's voice warned Tai to drop the subject. The priest folded his arms across his chest and looked back out at the trees, watching the wind rip off spring leaves and batter them in a brutal drop to the ground. Tai found it odd. One minute, the assassin would be pulling him into a conversation or just listening to him speak; the next, Entreri would shut the priest out. Tai supposed he could understand. Sometimes he felt like talking and being around others, and sometimes he didn't. And over the last tenday, he found his mood could change in the passing of a mere moment.

But why had he suddenly found himself sharing such a trait with the assassin? Tai shook his head, trying to stop the endless cycle of his thoughts. Yes, he needed to focus on something else other than his constant, and often conflicting, jumble of thoughts.

And so the priest and the assassin sat on the black marble stairs of an abandoned tower and silently watched the approaching storm.

* * *

Nyx threw down a scroll and sighed in frustration. "I honestly thought Evendur kept his books and scrolls better organized than this." 

Jarlaxle glanced up from the book he held and smiled at the monk. "Well, Mordecai no doubt added to the disarray."

The two stood in Evendur's main library, where they had been searching through books and scrolls for hours. The cramped round room seemed to hold thousands of texts; bookcase after bookcase stretched toward the ceiling, covering every bare inch of the walls. In some cases, the books were stacked two deep on the mahogany shelves, and piles of scrolls were heaped in the floor, obscuring the fine Calishite rugs.

Much to Jarlaxle and Nyx's consternation, the dim light from the two narrow windows hadn't been enough to enable them to read these endless texts easily. The single oil lamp they had lit may have helped alleviate that problem, but the sky outside kept growing darker until shadows filled the room. In addition, due to Evendur's lack of husbandry skills, the general swirl of dust and musty smell of old paper had kept the two sneezing.

Somehow, Nyx found it oddly humorous to see the drow sneeze. Partly, she was amused to hear his now-predictable three little sneezes, and it was even funnier when he sneezed hard enough to nearly knock his garish hat off his head. But mostly she just hadn't seen him as . . . well . . . _human_ enough to sneeze. The legend of the powerful, evil dark elves seemed to preclude something so mundane. But, of course, Nyx realized that her reaction was illogical.

Jarlaxle had set down his book. "You do realize that Mordecai may have taken or destroyed the book or scroll we need?"

"Yes, yes." Nyx picked up another scroll. "But I just can't bring myself to believe that we'll find nothing. There has to be some clue here."

"We've been through most all the scrolls and books which appeared promising," Jarlaxle pointed out.

"Don't give up until the last page is turned."

The drow nodded. "I suppose you are correct." He motioned at the scroll Nyx had thrown on the pile beside her. "Although perhaps we would increase our chances of success if you would not proceed so hastily."

Nyx glared at Jarlaxle and snatched up another scroll. "I don't need to slow down. I'm quite sure I haven't missed anything of import."

The drow smiled, and it was not unkind. "Being here bothers you."

Nyx smacked the scroll down onto Evendur's mahogany desk. "Should it not? I don't particularly enjoy rifling through my friend's things now that he's dead." She gestured at the room. "And he always smelled like his books." The monk picked up the scroll again and unrolled it, trying to focus on the words. "Besides," she continued, keeping her attention on the paper. "Tai was . . . attacked here."

Silence greeted this proclamation, and Nyx glanced up to find Jarlaxle looking somewhat contrite.

"I am . . . truly sorry," the drow said quietly, staring down at the book in his hands.

This sudden seriousness knocked Nyx off-balance. Was he trying to placate her, or was he sincere?

Jarlaxle lifted his gaze to meet hers. "I have said so before, but allow me to say it again: I certainly did not intend for Tai—or you or Artemis—to be hurt that night. I would have never imagined Mordecai would lash out at one of us in such a way. All I can do is apologize for my lack of foresight and hope that you will forgive me."

The monk frowned at him. Lack of foresight? In such an obviously cunning mercenary? And regret or compassion for the pain of another? That seemed singularly odd coming from a drow.

At her silence, Jarlaxle opened his book again and began scanning the pages. Yet only a few seconds later, he'd released the book in order to bring a hand to his face; his eyes squeezed shut as he inhaled sharply.

_'Choo, 'choo, 'choo._

Nyx laughed aloud, unable to contain her sudden mirth, especially as the monstrous plume upon Jarlaxle's hat bobbed with the little sneezes.

The drow glanced up at her with a puzzled expression, and within moments his signature grin returned. "Do you find my suffering so amusing, dear monk?"

Nyx returned her attention to the scroll. "Perhaps." Her smile turned a bit sad at her next words, although her tone betrayed a touch of anger. "And perhaps I'll forgive you—once I've avenged both Tai and Evendur by carving Mordecai's heart out of his chest."

Jarlaxle's chuckle was dark. "Be sure to go slowly."

* * *

"_Vren._" 

The name was uttered like a curse. The drow who owned the name smiled as he stepped into the darkened forest clearing and spoke. "Greetings, my dear Mordecai."

Mordecai, formerly of Bregan D'aerthe, scowled at the Secondboy of House Tuin'Tarl, for whom he'd been ordered to wait before proceeding to the ruins. The cleric decided not to stand from the tree root he was currently resting upon; in fact, he picked up the solid white cat which lounged at his feet and began petting her instead. He hoped the double insult of not standing and of giving an animal priority over a noble would nag at Vren. "Pray tell, why did they send _you_?" The trees of the surrounding forest seemed to shiver at the cleric's anger, and the clap of thunder which rent the air appeared to equally reflect Mordecai's mood.

The short, willowy warrior glided toward the seated Mordecai but stopped just out of weapon's reach. His golden eyes seemed to glitter with amusement. "Our Matron Mother decided that such a pathetic commoner as you needed help to accomplish this task, so she sent me." Vren gestured toward the trees. "And she gave me three soldiers as well." At the general introduction, three drow warriors joined Vren and Mordecai in the clearing; each wore on his cloak the crest of their House.

Mordecai glanced at the soldiers, then turned his stare upon the drow before him. Of all the noble males of House Tuin'Tarl, Mordecai hated Vren the most. Just looking at Vren's ornately-braided silver hair made the cleric ill, and he often fantasized about torturing him. The portentous, pompous, annoying . . . "You misunderstand my question. While it is true that I insist I need no help, what I really wish to know is why our Matron Mother thinks someone as weak as you _could_ assist me."

Vren laughed lightly, throwing out his hand in a dismissive gesture. "Stop sulking; you're so petty when you fail to get your way. Besides, you should not say such things to the future weapons master of your adopted House."

Mordecai snorted. "You? Weapons master? I thought your _younger_ brother had been appointed to take my place. And what does it say about you that your Matron Mother had to bring me in instead of using you in the first place?"

Vren hissed. "By all means, let us fight. I assure you that you will find me much changed."

"Magical items?" Mordecai scoffed, making a show of turning his complete attention to Cat and scratching her under her chin. Vren wasn't worth his consideration any longer, and Mordecai wanted him to know it.

"Training," Vren replied. "I am your superior in every way now, not simply by blood."

A flash of lightening ripped across the blackened sky, and Mordecai glanced back up and merely grinned. The cleric wondered if the rain would send Vren into a snit; the Secondboy hated anything that messed with his long, beautiful hair. "We shall see how superior you are after you have spent a few days upon the surface—especially in the damp."

"No, we shall see how superior I am after I have assassinated Jarlaxle and his human servant and have recovered the _Kagaor ki Tamal._" Vren gave Mordecai a nasty grin of his own. "I have not only come with orders, I have come with a plan. You will be following my lead from this point on, or you will be the next meal for the house spiders." The drow crossed his arms and smirked.

The cleric snickered and began imagining all the ways he could terrorize Vren and break his soul. Truly, the fool had no idea who he was threatening, especially since none of the Tuin'Tarls knew Mordecai was a cleric. Mordecai had more ways to make Vren beg and scream than the Secondboy could even imagine. Hells, he'd reduce the drow to an incoherent, mad, drooling lump of flesh. He would become Vren's worst nightmare realized.

And he would do the same to Jarlaxle and his three pet humans; they would pay for the dishonor they'd handed him. With a deep breath, the cleric fought off his anger, reminding himself—not for the first time—that at least one of Jarlaxle's pets had received a proper dose of humiliation at his hands.

"Well, let us proceed," Vren said, motioning for Mordecai to stand. "We must travel West, back toward the tower you once occupied. I shall tell you my plan as we travel."

Mordecai sneered. "Yes, let's." _Let's begin the path to your ultimate disgrace and death._

* * *

_A/N: As always, I must thank Matt and Darkhelmet for beta reading. Also, I need to thank Rezuri and Euphorbic for reading and responding to this chapter. All the quotes of Artemis and Jarlaxle at the beginnings of the chapters are from RAS. _

If anyone is curious, I made up the custom of the birthdays. It's supposed to be specific to Tai's family, not general to the region.

Thank you to all who read and any who review.


	2. Chapter 2

"_Either way, it seems to me as if life is just a play,  
and a pointless one, an act for the pleasure of the viewing gods . . .  
All the pettiness of life itself is my complaint, I fear."—A.E._

**Chapter Two**

A thoroughly drenched Entreri held in a sigh as the guards opened the massive wooden gates of Olostin's Hold. Although he knew he and his companions had to resupply, the assassin was growing impatient with all the lost time. They had wasted seven days attempting to locate the ruins based on Nyx's original information, and without even a single sign of Mordecai's presence. Then they'd spent three days traveling to Evendur's tower and another day going through his scrolls. Apparently, this plan had born fruit, for Nyx and Jarlaxle had discovered what they needed. However, the monk and drow had seemed grim during the trip to Olostin's Hold and wouldn't tell Entreri and Tai what concerned them.

Entreri had long since decided he'd wring them for information as soon as they had rented rooms for the night. The assassin, therefore, headed with single-minded determination for the now familiar tavern, The Flaming Flagon, all the while ignoring the way his boots sank into the muddy street. Around him, the village bustled with activity despite the recent storm: vendors closed their booths for the night, and children raced down the wooden sidewalks. The setting sun had broken through the dark clouds, casting a rosy glow over both the people and their village, and passerby yelled evening's greetings to each other over the hubbub.

After surveying the crowd for possible dangers, the assassin pushed the commotion to his periphery. Behind him, a water-logged Tai lagged by several feet, and Nyx and Jarlaxle, equally drenched, brought up the rear. With a quick backward glance, Entreri confirmed what he'd suspected: the boy appeared to be brooding again. Tai had been alternately stoic and moody for days now, a trend the assassin didn't know what to think about. From the moment he'd first met Tai, Entreri had known him to be a young man of determination and conviction. Perhaps the stocism reflected this, and the moodiness was a sign of an anger Entreri didn't wish to admit he empathized with.

Dismissing the thoughts, Entreri pushed through the door into The Flaming Flagon and was met by a rush of sound and smell: raucous laughter mixed with clinking mugs, and pipe smoke clashed with the bitter scent of ale. People crowded around every table, some of them standing beside the tables in order to share a drink with friends. The assassin pushed through the throng toward the barkeep and secured two rooms: one for himself and Jarlaxle, the other for Tai and Nyx.

And so it was that in short order, Entreri had ushered his companions upstairs and into his and Jarlaxle's room.

"What of supper, my friend?" Jarlaxle asked as he closed the door behind them. "I am famished!"

"We'll dine later," Entreri replied, his tone leaving no room for argument. "Besides, we couldn't get a table right now." While the assassin hung his cloak and hat on the coat rack and staked claim of a bed, his three companions hovered in apparent confusion near the doorway. The sunset's red glow shone through the window, lending the room its only light.

"Why have you brought us all in here?" Nyx asked, reaching up to squeeze rain water from her auburn braid.

"Tell me," was Entreri's flat response from his seat on the bed. At Nyx's confused look, he clarified, "Tell me whatever it is you and Jarlaxle discovered that so disturbs you."

Tai gave Jarlaxle a suspicious look. "Yes. Do tell us what you are hiding." The priest walked over and sat by Entreri on the lumpy straw mattress, and the assassin smiled smugly. _The boy is generally even-tempered,_ Entreri thought, _but he has bite to him._

"But of course," Jarlaxle began, taking off his hat and cloak and hanging them beside Entreri's. "As we said earlier, we have a better idea of where to locate the ruins, which are referred to as the Ssesartas Ruins."

"Although it will take several days to travel there," Nyx chimed in.

Entreri pinned them both with his stare, telling them without words to get to the point.

"And we also discovered more about what the _Kagaor ki Tamal_ can do." The monk's expression was grave.

"Indeed, we are evidently in more danger than we thought," Jarlaxle said as he walked over and sat on what was, by default, his bed. "In one scroll, the mirror was referred to not only as 'The Mirror of Convergence' but as 'The Tainted Mirror.' The description of The Tainted Mirror's powers sounds like psionics. The text implied that the mirror grants its wielder telepathy, mind control, and other psionic attacks, all of which may be used against a great number of creatures at once."

Entreri felt discomforted. "Are you sure? It's rather odd that the mirror would have such disparate designations."

"It is odd," Jarlaxle replied. "However, the serpent races are known for their ability to enchant or charm others, so it makes sense that the mirror might have the power to enchant or even have psionic properties."

"And apparently it does," Nyx said, leaning against the room's wooden door. "That means that if Mordecai gets the mirror, he will gain the ability to read thoughts, control people, and attack others with the force of his mind."

The drow glanced between Tai and Nyx. "You may ask Entreri what that destruction might look like."

Tai frowned in response, and the assassin frowned with him, remembering the way he'd blasted a hole in Drizzt's chest.

"I'm not sure of this," Tai said. "I admit that my ability to sense Hoar and gain knowledge from him is limited, but I genuinely had the impression that the mirror is connected to Set. Apparently nothing you read mentions Set, or Sseth for that matter—and the rumors indicated that the mirror might be a direct channel to Sseth."

"The rumors could be wrong," the drow pointed out.

Tai shook his head. "The text you read might be wrong. And despite the varying rumors we heard, I stand by the impression I received from Hoar: the mirror is somehow connected to Set."

"Either the rumors or the text may be wrong. Or they both might be wrong—or both right," Jarlaxle said. "Regardless, the implication is clear: if Mordecai locates that mirror, all four of our lives will be cut short."

"More than ours," Nyx corrected softly.

"But I have one further point," the drow said. "Allow me to take this moment to assure you that Mordecai will never stop hunting us. Not only have we caused him a great deal of humiliation, it is obvious to me that he's taking orders from someone else. That someone—likely a Matron Mother—will not stop until I, at least, am dead."

"How do you know that?" Tai asked suspiciously.

"Is it not obvious? Besides, I have my sources," Jarlaxle said, waving a hand through the air.

_In other words, you became paranoid, talked to Kimmuriel, and then found out your paranoia was justified,_ Entreri thought with a smirk.

"At any rate," the drow continued, "not only do they—whoever they are—want control of Bregan D'aerthe—" He glanced at Nyx. "That is, my mercenary band," he clarified, "they now realize that I know too much. Ergo, they will not stop until I am dead."

Entreri narrowed his eyes at Jarlaxle's use of "my" in regards to the mercenary band and wondered just how involved Jarlaxle remained in Bregan D'aerthe considering Kimmuriel now led it. Given that the two had periodic meetings . . .

Tai was still watching Jarlaxle with wariness. "You can obviously protect yourself," he said, a touch sarcastically, "why do we not separate from you, thereby ensuring our survival?"

The drow, monk, and assassin all stared at the young man with shock.

Entreri was not so smug this time as he looked to Jarlaxle. _That sounded like something I would say._ "It's a valid question, although I already know the answer."

"All four of us have brought humiliation to Mordecai; he will see to it that we all die," Jarlaxle reminded Tai.

"Ah, yes. That's right." The sarcasm in Tai's tone remained. "Very well." The boy stood abruptly and smirked at Jarlaxle. "Given that our own precious lives are in so much danger, I suppose we'd better leave early tomorrow morning." With that, the priest exited the room.

After Nyx closed the door behind him, she frowned at the two mercenaries. "That was . . . most unlike him."

Entreri snorted. "Do you think?"

Nyx glanced at him but apparently decided not to take the bait. "Tai _is_ correct about this involving more than our lives."

"For the moment, we'll do well to save our own," Entreri replied.

"Although by saving our own, we'll also save many others," Jarlaxle added. "And the boy is right about one other thing—we should depart early in the morning, as soon as we've bought new supplies."

Nyx nodded. "Indeed." She opened the door, then paused and looked back at the mercenaries. "Truly, you two need to stop calling Tai 'boy.'"

"Ah. I take it from your comment that Tai told you about his birthday," Entreri said. He didn't remember the topic coming up in the sparse conversation the group had shared on the way to Olostin's Hold, but then again, he hadn't paid attention to all of it.

Nyx stared at the assassin. "Birthday? Are you telling me that Tai's birthday is today?" The look on her face could only be described as pained surprise.

Entreri lay back upon his bed and crossed his ankles on the footboard. "Yes."

"And he told you this?" The hurt in Nyx's voice was obvious.

"Yes. He's seventeen now. Did you not know that?" Entreri felt oddly triumphant that he knew something about Tai that Nyx didn't, but he didn't stop to consider the meaning of the strange emotion.

Nyx grew suddenly stoic, although her posture revealed a bit of stiffness. "None of us will celebrate a birthday again if we don't stop Mordecai. Let's keep our attention on what is at stake here." She left without further comment.

"That was rather petty of you, do you not think?" Jarlaxle asked with a touch of mirth.

"All of life is petty." Entreri glanced the drow's way. "Besides, if they were such close friends, would they not already know each other's birthdays?"

Jarlaxle grinned. "An interesting criterion for friendship. What other criteria do you possess?"

"Do not purposely annoy your friends."

The drow chuckled. "I see." He grinned at Entreri again. "So when is your birthday, Artemis?"

The assassin gave Jarlaxle a sharp look. "I don't know."

Jarlaxle nodded, and to Entreri's surprise, some of his mirth faded. "I see."

Several minutes passed in silence, and neither the drow nor the assassin moved. Finally, Entreri decided to humor the drow and spoke. "So when is yours?"

"I never knew," Jarlaxle replied.

Entreri gave the drow another harsh look, but he could tell the drow was sincere. He looked away, feeling inexplicably uncomfortable. "Somehow I do not find that a particularly startling revelation."

"Do we then fail that criterion of friendship?" Jarlaxle asked, immediately returning to his teasing demeanor.

Entreri smirked. "Technically, no, since we did bother to ask. Now be quiet, and let us go eat." He stood and made his way to the door.

Jarlaxle was right on his heels. "Why must I be silent in order for us to dine?" he asked, grabbing his hat from the coat rack.

The assassin swallowed a sigh. "Do not make me respond to that question. I assure you that you will not like the answer."

Jarlaxle merely laughed.

* * *

Nyx opened the door to the room she and Tai would share. The room was equally unimpressive as Entreri and Jarlaxle's, but she expected nothing more from The Flaming Flagon. A narrow bed occupied each side of the room; pinewood nightstands stood by the beds. A small dressing table, its oval mirror cloudy with age, occupied the wall by the door, an oil lamp its only decoration. Scuffed wooden floors made the room seem dark, and the single window didn't alleviate the problem.

Tai stared out the window, his arms folded tightly across his chest. He'd shed his weapons and tattered royal blue cloak, leaving them on the bedpost of the bed that occupied the right-hand wall. His newest riding outfit clung to him, affording Nyx the chance to see how thin Tai really was. Since his clothes were normally baggier, the monk tended to forget she was actually slightly larger than her friend. Although Nyx and Tai were the same height—five foot two—Nyx probably carried ten more pounds of muscle. Seeing Tai in the tighter, black outfit made Nyx realize he was too thin.

When Tai faced her, the monk became further disturbed. She realized suddenly that his naturally tan complexion looked more sallow than usual, likely as a result of sleep-loss; even his shoulder-length black hair was damp and tangled from the earlier rain, giving him an unusually disheveled appearance. However, what bothered her most was that he rarely seemed to smile now.

"Tai?" she asked, her voice soft.

The priest's gaze locked on her. "Yes?"

"You were rather short with Jarlaxle. Is there something bothering you?"

Tai frowned. "He's so focused on his own survival, I just question whether he cares about anyone other than himself."

Nyx smiled faintly. "Well, he _is_ a mercenary." The monk dropped the smile as Jarlaxle's earlier comments resurfaced in her mind. "Although he has told me, more than once, that what happened to you genuinely grieves him."

Tai snorted, his irritation apparently intensifying. "In other words, he said that after you so graciously informed him about what happened to me?" The priest turned his back to her and stared out the window again; the sunset's red glow shone off his damp hair.

Nyx literally stepped backward, her shock and sudden guilt were so extreme. "I . . . ah . . . well, yes. I'm sorry, Tai. I told them because . . . it was so obvious you'd been hurt. And I was so angry, I guess that I wanted them to feel guilty or . . ." She trailed off, unsure she could truly explain her motivation. "Plus, given what you'd said about them, I was just hoping . . . they would care."

Tai didn't turn back around. "You allow your anger to overwhelm you at times. I understand that the injustice of the world angers you and informs your dedication to Hoar, and I admire the zeal with which you carry out your duties. But you cannot allow your anger to dictate your decisions or otherwise ruin you."

Nyx felt a blush spread across her nose and cheeks. Tai was right, of course, as she was painfully aware, and she was horrified that her impulsiveness had caused Tai discomfort and embarrassment. Her temper was something she needed to address . . . later. Right now, however, a sense of hope pierced her embarrassment: Tai's wisdom was shining through his irritation and grief. This wisdom was one of the qualities that had drawn her to him in the first place, and the quality which convinced her Tai was special.

"It is a realization I've had concerning my own situation," Tai continued. "I refuse to allow what happened to . . . destroy me. If there's anything I've discerned in the last few days, it's that if I allow this experience to destroy me, it will only grant Mordecai what he desires."

Nyx felt even more hopeful at that statement, yet at the same time, she couldn't dismiss the priest's flat, emotionless tone. Angry, listless, angry, listless . . . Tai's moodiness concerned her. "That is quite true," she commented after a pause, "and it is a wise thing for you to realize."

The priest's shoulders abruptly tensed. "I didn't train intensely for years just to end up some weak, lost soul unable to attain vengeance for himself," he snapped.

Nyx unconsciously chewed her bottom lip. She felt glad that Tai was now speaking to her about this—for an entire tenday, he hadn't. Still, Tai became irritable when they broached the subject. As much as it hurt to admit, Nyx knew that the person around whom Tai seemed the most at ease was Artemis Entreri. But how could Tai be comfortable around someone he'd spent less than a month with and not be comfortable with her? She and Tai had spent six months together! "Of course you're not weak. And you may be sure that you will get vengeance."

"I'm not sure of anything anymore," the priest said quietly.

Nyx cringed and decided she'd best change the topic. She started to mention Tai's birthday—to apologize for being so over-focused on her holy mission that she failed to ask something so simple—but Tai turned toward her suddenly and spoke first.

"You've followed Hoar since you were twelve, correct?" he asked.

"Yes," she replied, bewildered by this shift in the conversation.

"That's thirteen years total, then, and seven years longer than I have followed him. So answer me a question."

Nyx wandered over to the unclaimed bed and sat. "I'll try."

"Why did Hoar not save me?" Tai asked, his brow furrowing with his distress.

The raw emotion in the priest's voice was difficult to bear. "I'm unsure. Have you not communed with him and asked?"

Tai snorted and leaned his head and shoulder against the window. "I've considered it. But it feels disrespectful, so I can't bring myself to. All I've said to him is that I don't understand why this has happened."

"Then ask in a respectful tone," Nyx suggested. "Hoar already knows you're angry, and he's not a petty god. He will understand. But I seriously doubt that the 'why' is what matters." The monk wanted to kick herself for saying those words, but she didn't want Tai to get caught trying to answer a question that could never really be answered. "The 'why,' unfortunately, is simply that Mordecai is sick and evil."

Tai sighed, and the exhalation sounded so deep and final it was as though it reflected a void in the priest's soul. "Yes. That is true enough."

The monk was silent for a moment. She desperately wanted to help Tai—to ease his pain any way she could. In reality, however, Tai had experienced what Nyx considered her worst nightmare. She had little idea of how to help him. Even in the early years of her training, Nyx had felt so horrified by the concept of rape that she'd pondered committing suicide if it ever happened to her. However, once she'd become powerful enough to channel _ki_ into her punches, she'd grown confident that she'd defeat any potential rapists.

Now Nyx realized that her confidence did not address the issue of what she would do should her training prove insufficient. However, she'd instantly recognized the wisdom of Tai's earlier words, and she agreed: if she killed herself, she would only be gratifying and empowering the rapist. How could she or Tai steal that power, though? The monk sifted through all the justice she'd dealt to rapists and considered the victims as well. She then thought through all the reactions of those she'd helped, and what she recalled was that there were victims who didn't want to be called "victims" and criminals who lashed out if she taunted them with . . .

"Pity!" she suddenly exclaimed.

Tai raised an eyebrow.

"If you want to shame Mordecai, you must learn to pity him," she said, resolute that she'd hit upon a truth. "Mordecai would not be able to stand it if you pitied him. It would eat his soul."

The priest seemed skeptical. "Pity? Why would that affect him?"

Nyx clapped her hands together as she warmed up to the idea. "Well, in the past I taunted rapists with comments like 'I pity the fact you have so little control over yourself and your so-called life that you have to rape a child in order to feel powerful or important.' Or something along those lines. And that really angered some of them. But I was being so acidic in my tone . . . if you genuinely pitied Mordecai for being pathetic, it'd kill him. It's a matter of his pride."

Tai nodded slowly. "I'll consider what you say."

Nyx stood and approached the young man. She took him by the shoulders, but he seemed so uncomfortable and stiff, she instinctively let go. "I would like to say one more thing," she said. "If you will turn to Hoar for guidance and healing, I have faith that you will be able to overcome this. I say this because I truly believe you are the Chosen of Hoar."

"The Chosen?" Tai asked, snorting.

"Yes. Your wisdom and power are quite advanced for your age; Hoar has shown you great favor. Please, keep your trust in him. A life without hope is not a life at all."

Tai's expression turned sour. "I suppose I should give credence to the opinion of Hoar's Holy Javelin, but I can't imagine why Hoar would allow his so-called Chosen to—" The priest stopped abruptly, a flash of horror passing through his eyes.

"Tai?" Nyx started to reach out to him—to hug him as she had on happier occasions—but she pulled herself up short.

The priest turned to the window once more, glaring at the street below. "Enough. I do not wish to discuss this any further."

There was no arguing with that tone. "Very well." Nyx noted the sadness in her voice and told herself to shape up. "I am going to visit my great uncle and his family. I'll likely be gone for several hours . . . Do you wish to accompany me?"

"No." Tai didn't look at her. "I could use some time alone."

_That's not unreasonable,_ Nyx told herself as she turned to leave. But all she really wanted was to pull Tai into a tight hug.

No, what she really wanted was for things to return to the way they had been before. For this pain to have never befallen Tai.

_Damn Mordecai!_ she thought for perhaps the hundredth time. _That bastard can't face a death too heinous._

* * *

The tavern's patrons were giving the two mercenaries at the corner table a wide berth. Although Entreri and Jarlaxle had stayed at The Flaming Flagon before, several of the customers had likely not seen them. Needless to say, the sight of the drow and his great purple hat gave them pause—but no more pause than the dark-skinned man who was dressed entirely in black. The man's cold grey eyes were apparently equally unnerving as the dark elf's smile.

"Such a fine steak!" Jarlaxle exclaimed, happily cutting into the two-inch-thick slab.

Entreri eyed the elf's plate. "Perhaps it would be a touch more appetizing if it did not bleed so much."

"Nonsense!" Jarlaxle grinned at his moody friend. "Over-cooking leads to tastelessness."

"It is likely still _raw_ in the center," Entreri argued. "It is a wonder that the meat does not bellow when you cut into it."

The drow laughed. "Quite amusing, my friend. But at least I do not ask that my food be drowned in spices."

Entreri considered his steak, which was so heavily spiced that it was no longer brown. Yellow and red spices seemed to war for dominance upon the meat's surface. "It is the only way I can get food this far north to have any taste."

Jarlaxle wrinkled his nose. "You'll smell of spices for days."

"You are only complaining because you cannot withstand them," Entreri replied, returning his attention to his meal.

"Quite right," the elf agreed easily. "Several of the native Calishite dishes left me to discover a whole new type of burning sensation in my stomach."

Entreri snorted. "At least you admit your weakness."

Jarlaxle waved a bloody slice of steak under the assassin's nose. "Only because you reveal yours."

The assassin swatted away Jarlaxle's hand. "It is not a weakness to prefer one's food cooked. Though, truthfully, were starvation and death the only other options, I assure you I would be able to stomach most anything."

Jarlaxle sat back in his chair, then, and ate his bite of steak, chewing carefully. The assassin had the unusual ability of giving insights into himself at the oddest times. "I am sure you could," he replied after swallowing. _And I am equally sure that you have._

Entreri now regarded Jarlaxle with a serious expression. "Now that we are alone, give me your genuine assessment. The _Kagaor ki Tamal_--how dangerous is it? And do you believe it is a divine artifact or a psionic one?"

The elf was amused. "Do you believe I have withheld information from Nyx and Tai?"

Entreri smirked. "You always withhold at least a bit of information from everyone."

Jarlaxle laughed; indeed, the human's insight and intelligence were two of the reasons the elf so enjoyed his companionship. "I am not hiding any information. As for my assessment, it makes more sense to me that the mirror would be psionic. Whatever House Mordecai is securing the item for could make themselves formidable with such a weapon. However, I am unwilling to dismiss Tai's impression that the artifact is divine."

"And if it is?" the assassin asked, slicing off another bite of his spicy steak.

Jarlaxle shrugged. "There must be some gain to be had in it, although I am curious to learn what, given that the mirror cannot be an artifact of Lolth's." The elf frowned. "Regardless of the power used, all the evidence we have so far suggests mass destruction and carnage."

Entreri grinned wickedly. "A city of 20,000 dead drow does not seem such a bad thing."

"Perhaps not, given that I am not in said city," Jarlaxle replied lightly, although he did not completely share his friend's utter callousness. "However, given Mordecai's pride, I am quite sure the mirror will be tested upon us first." The elf took a bite of his own steak, savoring the taste of fresh food after many days of rations.

"Impossible," the assassin said with his customary confidence, "since he will not reach the mirror first."

Jarlaxle smiled in response. "So tell me," the elf said, changing the subject abruptly, "how go your efforts at salvaging our cleric?"

Entreri gave the drow a measuring look. "One wonders why you do not attempt to salvage him yourself."

"I would think his attempt to verbally slit my throat earlier would answer that question for you."

"I'll grant you that." Entreri paused to take another bite of his meal—and perhaps to formulate an answer as well. "Well enough, I suppose. I should think you aware that I am not entirely sure how to proceed." He frowned for a moment. "Except, perhaps, to stop Tai from brooding so much."

"The great Artemis Entreri admits a second weakness in one night! It is a historical day, I tell you." Jarlaxle chuckled.

Entreri pinned him with his signature death glare, and the elf wondered that the feather in his hat did not curl into a ball in response. "Nor am I entirely convinced of why I should proceed."

"For his clerical skills, as I have told you before," Jarlaxle replied easily. "And I do not just mean divine power—I am speaking of divine knowledge. Our priest is special, as you are well aware. When Tai communes with Hoar, he is able to sense or learn things from his deity. Things, I might add, that have to do with the _Kagaor ki Tamal,_ and therefore with Mordecai."

"Practical as always," Entreri replied sarcastically.

"But of course." Jarlaxle smiled at his friend and considered the sudden sarcasm. Given that the man had just, in so many words, asked the elf for a logical, profitable reason to help Tai, why would he then be motivated to react in such a way? The drow chuckled again. "Besides, you have to admit that the boy is quite likeable."

Jarlaxle received his second death glare of the evening. "About as likeable as you," the assassin quipped.

"Then he is likeable, indeed!" the elf replied with a wide grin.

Entreri snorted, turning his attention back to his meal without further response.

In the face of the assassin's attitude, Jarlaxle thought back to the many conversations he'd shared with the drow who had first trained him in combat. "'To attain power is to defeat your opponents. To maintain power is to build a network,'" he said. "'All those who surround you must require your presence; if they cannot do without you, they will be less likely to move against you.'"

"I beg your pardon?" Entreri asked, looking up. "You sound as though you are quoting a sacred text."

If Jarlaxle had realized how sad his smile was, he would have slapped himself. "No, not a text. Just a conversation I once had with someone." He grinned again, recovering. "And my words are quite true. By helping Tai, we not only gain him as a resource, we bind him to us. He will never turn his god's justice upon us because he will need us. He will need you."

Entreri stared at Jarlaxle for long moments, and the elf could not read his expression. "In a world without loyalty, you create dependence." A statement of fact, or rather of summation.

"Is the concept so strange to an assassin from Calimport?"

Entreri frowned at the drow. "Not at all. But it requires that I ask a simple question: in what ways do you think you have made me dependent upon you, that you might force some brand of loyalty from me?"

Jarlaxle realized he'd waded into dangerous territory, but he remembered a conversation between Entreri and Tai that he'd eavesdropped upon months ago. "I provide you with entertainment." He laughed lightly. "But I do not doubt that you both could and would abandon my company at will."

Entreri stared without blinking at Jarlaxle for many minutes. In fact, the drow found himself caught in something much like a staring contest.

"You do not need to provide me with entertainment in order to buy my 'loyalty'—if such a thing could be called loyalty," the assassin said at last, his tone caught somewhere between banter and seriousness. "Loyalty, on those rare occasions when it exists, cannot be bought. It is something that is built, and all that is required of the recipient is return loyalty. I'm sure the concept is lost on you, however. You could not brush aside your paranoia long enough to give someone loyalty."

Jarlaxle felt a snap of anger at what he perceived as hypocrisy, but the anger was instantly swallowed by the unintentional and deeply buried subtext behind Entreri's words: _I am your friend; if you are mine, then my loyalty is yours._

"You are a very odd man," the elf said, reaching an epiphany. _The assassin in you asked me for a practical reason to help Tai, but a tiny part of you really wanted validation for an impractical reason to help him. My answer made you doubt my unspoken offer of friendship for you . . . and friendship is, of course, the one and only thing you truly wish of me._

But Jarlaxle could never say those words to Entreri, just as surely as he could not admit his reasons for offering the assassin friendship. "You may doubt my loyalty as it suits you," he said nonchalantly, "but I will tell you this: I do indeed hope that Tai recovers. What happened to him does not please me in the slightest."

"I know," was Entreri's blunt answer. "If I thought you would or could attain even the slightest pleasure from what Mordecai did to Tai, I would have handed you a gruesome death long ago."

_Spoken like a man who might have already made good on such a threat,_ Jarlaxle thought, and he found himself wondering—not for the first time—if Entreri's father and uncle had died horrific deaths at his hands. Perhaps so. Then again, Entreri may not have bothered with them, or they may have fled once they learned he was an assassin.

But such was Jarlaxle's fascination with Artemis Entreri. He did not doubt that he could remain by the human's side for the rest of Entreri's life and never tire of putting together the puzzle pieces or examining the man's psyche.

* * *

Tai stared out the inn window at the deserted main street of Olostin's Hold. The moon pierced the clouds periodically, providing illumination where the rare street lamps could not, and revealed the wagon ruts running down the muddy street. A quarter hour had passed since the last person, who had apparently been drunk, had weaved his way through the village. Normally the absence of commotion would have soothed Tai, but not this night. Midnight was approaching, and Nyx still had not returned from her family's house. Tai feared he had hurt her feelings earlier and resolved to apologize to her when she returned. In the meantime, however, the priest needed to commune with Hoar.

Unfortunately, while Nyx's assurances had helped Tai, one of her other comments had left the priest disturbed. If he were the Chosen of Hoar, as Nyx suggested—a possibility that seemed remote to Tai—then did that mean Hoar had allowed Tai to be raped as some kind of test?

Tai shuddered at the thought. On the other hand, he knew that many deities tested their worshippers—especially their priests and paladins—for worthiness. Had Hoar allowed this horror to befall him in order to test his response? To measure some facet of Tai's personality and therefore verify his worthiness?

The mere possibility made the priest nauseated. Life held enough pain on its own without gods putting mortals through tests! Tai wasn't sure he wanted to believe that possibility . . . and he was equally unsure that he should. After all, Hoar had enabled Tai to channel his divine power during the battle with Mordecai and his soldiers even though Tai had barely communed at all!

But rolling around in his own thoughts would not help him. As his uncle had told him many times before, the only way to settle a question was to commune. Tai needed to take Nyx's advice and just respectfully ask questions . . . and hope that he was still enough in Hoar's favor to ascertain a sense of what the answers were.

Tai sat on the floor, crossed his legs, and pulled his shoulders back. Now was not the time to doubt. He was a priest. For five—no, six—years now, his self-identity had revolved around either becoming a priest or being a priest. He could not afford to allow this aspect of himself to slip, or he would be truly lost. Any and all sense of himself would fade away.

And he felt lost enough already.

_Focus,_ he ordered himself, closing his eyes and slowing his breathing. _Touch the tip of your tongue to the roof of your mouth. Breathe deeply. Allow the breaths to fill you, to resonate in your throat._

Tai focused on his breathing for several minutes, and as he did, the sounds and sensations of the physical world seemed to grow distant. Once a feeling of lightness filled him, he moved on to the next phase. _Reach inside of yourself, to the core of your being, and touch the thread that connects you to Hoar. Feel his presence. Allow his aura to fill you._

This moment was always both joyful and unsettling. Hoar was a moody deity, and his anger over injustices could be overwhelming. Depending on Hoar's mood when Tai communed—and Tai's level of connection to him—the priest occasionally felt Hoar's burning wrath toward whomever needed a good dose of vengeance. This was how over time Tai had been able to discern that some Mulhorandi deity was apparently at the top of the list.

Of course, this aspect of his deity's personality gave Tai hope that the rape had not been a test and that Hoar was actually angry on his behalf. However, Tai just didn't know yet. After all, it might be that Hoar felt Tai needed to understand the desire and need for poetic vengeance on a more personal, innate level.

Tai shuddered and pushed the thought away. He was losing his concentration. The priest refocused and reached inside of himself again, allowing Hoar's aura to fill him.

_Anger. Bitterness._ Tai took a deep breath as Hoar's emotions connected with his own. To Tai's delight, he'd attained a deep connection—the deepest since the rape. To his distress, Hoar was unusually angry this night.

_I ask forgiveness if I have angered you,_ Tai immediately prayed.

The anger seemed to redirect, leaving the priest with the feeling that Hoar's rage had not been aimed at him. The priest felt relieved, but he also decided that now was not a good time to question his deity. Still . . .

_I admit that I am still confused,_ Tai ventured.

The feelings within Tai remained neutral, suggesting to the priest that Hoar had simply accepted his statement as normal, natural.

_Is there anything which you wish me to attend to?_ Tai asked. The priest had found that if he remained still and attentive long enough, his thoughts would sometimes be directed toward a specific image or concern.

Several minutes passed, and Tai keep his breathing even and his mind clear. Eventually, the image of a mirror entered his mind.

_Then I ask for your blessing for this new day, specifically for the channeling of your divine power in order to carry out your will._ Tai proceeded to ask for the divine favors he figured he'd most need, starting with the ability to heal.

Tai lost all sense of time as Hoar's divine power filled him. The sense of closeness to his deity during this process made it Tai's favorite part of communing. The priest basked in Hoar's aura, and the strong sense of order and justice that accompanied it, and felt himself entirely relax for the first time since the rape. Surely, surely, his god would not plan such a test for—

Hoar seemed to suddenly push him—an internal sensation that was almost physical. A sense of danger raced down the spiritual thread from Hoar to Tai, jerking the priest out of his communing and causing him to open his eyes.

Before him, silent and unmoving, stood an unfamiliar drow.

Tai jumped to his feet and glanced at his bedpost, where his weapons' belt hung. He had no way to reach his daggers with the drow standing in the way, but despite the interruption of the communing, Hoar's power resonated within Tai, keeping him calm.

The strange drow laughed and fingered his pointed chin with delicate fingers. "Ah. My first victim of the evening," he said in heavily accented, if lilting, common. "I considered killing you as you mediated. I also considered tossing your weapons into your lap. But I could not decide what I would enjoy most—the ease of your death, silent and instant, or a slight challenge. If, in fact, you are capable of providing me with a challenge."

Tai glared at the slender drow, who was a full two inches shorter than he. The drow's wide golden eyes seemed to sparkle with amusement, and his silvery hair was pulled back from his face in a series of ornate braids. "You must be with Mordecai," Tai said, disgust filling his voice.

The drow hissed. "Not 'with.' I am Mordecai's superior."

"Even more of a reason for you to die," Tai replied, gathering Hoar's divine power within him.

The drow drew what appeared to be a metal rod. "At least you have nerve, worm." He whispered a word at the rod, and two blades extended from it—one from each side.

"And _you_ will have divine wrath," Tai returned. "_Corenthur._"

Tai was hoping to strike his attacker blind, but as Hoar's divine power surrounded the drow, creating soft blue glow, the elf shook himself and managed to resist the spell. The light quickly dissipated. "Your weak magic won't work on me," the drow sneered.

Tai growled and prepared a second attack. The drow thrust his sword at Tai, and the priest was hard-pressed to dodge the strike in the small room. Still, Tai jumped to the side, escaping the drow's blade.

Tai was already praying again, and he used his index fingers to draw an _X_ in the air. When his enemy continued his assault, Tai thought he had failed again. With a backslash, the drow attempted to slice open the priest's stomach, but Tai dived to the side, clearing the blade. In the process, the priest accidentally hit one of the nightstands, knocking the candelabra off of it and into the floor. Fortunately, the candles had not been lit.

Recovering and turning, Tai expected to find the drow at his throat; however, the male seemed stiffer and slower. _It worked!_ Tai thought, feeling gratified.

Although impeded, the drow continued his attack. As the drow struck a third time, Tai ducked below the blade and grabbed the drow's arm with his left hand. With his right hand, Tai made a single motion while invoking a prayer. Hoar's divine power surged through him and emptied into the drow's arm, opening multiple gashes which spurted blood. The drow howled in pain, and Tai jumped clear, landing on his bed. The priest hooked his foot in his belt and flipped it up into the air, catching it. Within seconds, he had his daggers drawn.

The drow, however, was apparently not interested in fighting anymore. His right arm dripped with gore, and he obviously couldn't hold it up. "_Lalith,_" the drow gasped, and his weapon's blades retreated. He ran and jumped out the window, which Tai only then realized was open.

Tai wasn't sure whether to be glad or alarmed to find he'd retreated so far into mediation that he'd been completely unaware. But of more importance was that Hoar had warned him of the danger.

_Well, even if the rape was a test, Hoar obviously still favors me,_ Tai thought. But that did not make the priest any more comfortable with the possibility the rape had been a test, nor did it answer the question of why Hoar hadn't answered Tai's prayer for help if the rape had not been a test.

"One step at a time," the priest told himself. "Just keep walking, and you will overcome this."

Tai's door burst open then, and Entreri and Jarlaxle rushed into the room.

"I heard a commotion!" Jarlaxle exclaimed, scanning the room.

Entreri was staring at Tai, and the priest figured he struck at odd pose standing on his bed with his daggers drawn. "We have another drow pursuing us," Tai explained.

The grimace on the assassin's face spoke volumes, and he sighed with exasperation. "More damn drow. I am truly cursed."

Jarlaxle grinned sweetly at Entreri, but Tai found he couldn't laugh at the mercenary's antics.

"You and me both," the priest said, feeling complete agreement.

* * *

_A/N: As you can tell, the food scene in this chapter provided part of the inspiration for "Of Music and Men." ;) _


	3. Chapter 3

"_Some people suffer under the pain of tragedies that most  
cannot imagine. And yet to believe that you can never  
make anything more of your life, can never rebuild or recover,  
is to damn yourself outright."—Tai _

**Chapter Three**

The midnight hour had come and gone, leaving a pale half moon encircled by encroaching storm clouds, which prowled the horizon like hunting panthers. Mordecai and the three Tuin'Tarl soldiers crouched in the High Forest's dense foliage, where the chirps and hoots of strange insects and animals surrounded them, and awaited the fifth member of their party. The night had grown cool, and the breeze brought a further chill. Mordecai pulled his cloak around his shoulders and eased his increasing boredom by watching Cat hunt.

Finally Vren arrived, dragging himself to his companions and revealing that his arm was a mess of shredded gore.

Mordecai was amused. "How many of them did you kill before you were so neatly frayed?"

The Secondboy dug a healing potion out of his supplies and drank it. "None," he admitted with a snarl.

"None? I thought you said strategic assassinations would work best," Mordecai mocked him. "I thought you said you could handle all four of them by yourself."

Vren glowered at Mordecai. "I met unexpected resistance."

"Jarlaxle?" the cleric guessed, assuming that the mercenary would easily wound and scare off the Secondboy. He crossed his arms and smugly peered down at Vren. "Or was it the human assassin?"

Vren sat against the nearest tree trunk and didn't answer. The three Tuin'Tarl soldiers watched the exchange in silence, too wise to speak up when their former weapons' master and the Secondboy were arguing. For several moments, the only sound was tree limbs creaking in the wind. Mordecai hoped the heavy silence would force Vren to answer, but the Secondboy seemed willing to let the question hang.

"The female?" the cleric finally asked. Then a moment's enlightenment hit him, given Vren's near pout. "The _boy_? You cannot be serious!" Mordecai laughed, the humor of the situation winning out, especially given the depth of Vren's failure and cowardice.

"And what, may I ask, do you find so amusing?" the Secondboy asked with a glare.

"You mean other than your pain?" Mordecai sneered. "I find great humor in the fact that a mere human boy would so easily beat you. It verifies for me that you are still the pathetic fighter I was brought in to replace."

Vren's entire face scrunched into a frown, his look of hatred priceless. "The human is a cleric. I'm unsure what spell he used against me, but my efforts were greatly impeded by it."

"A weak cleric such as he impeded you?" Mordecai laughed again.

"If he is so weak, why is he not dead by your hand," Vren asked, "along with Jarlaxle and Entreri—who are both still alive despite your best attempts?"

"Because I didn't intend to kill him," Mordecai snapped. "I tortured the boy and sent him as a message to the others." Unknowingly, Vren had hit a sore spot with the cleric. Mordecai knew that during the fight against Jarlaxle and Entreri, the human boy had held him motionless with his god's or goddess's power. Granted, it had only been for a few moments, but even those mere seconds were inexcusable. The irritating brat would pay for that embarrassment. Maybe Mordecai would rape him again. Somehow, death didn't seem an appropriate punishment.

Vren was smirking at Mordecai. "Convenient excuse." He crossed his legs and sat upright, continuing before Mordecai could respond. "I still believe that attacking them individually is the best plan."

"Why?" Mordecai asked, not seeing the logic of Vren's strategy. "_I_ insist that we should retrieve the mirror first. We can then use it to kill Jarlaxle and his companions all at once. Besides, retrieval of the mirror is our mission—are not our Matron Mother's dreams of power the whole purpose of this endeavor?" The cleric's tone turned faintly sarcastic.

The Secondboy snorted. "Yes. But what if Jarlaxle gets the mirror first? Or worse, uses some connection he still possesses to discover and reveal our identities? Do not underestimate his power or ability to destroy our house." Vren frowned. "We have never been strong, and Bregan D'aerthe has the ear of House Baenre. It's not a pleasant thought, given that both Jarlaxle and Kimmuriel remain alive and, according to you, are still in league."

Mordecai held back a sigh. "Of course Jarlaxle will figure out our identities. All the more reason for us to retrieve the mirror first!"

"No, all the more reason to kill Jarlaxle first!" Vren seemed exasperated.

Mordecai felt his patience slipping. "Very well. But if you persist in your efforts to kill Jarlaxle and his pets first, then you should wait until they reenter the forest and attack them all together."

Vren snickered and began patting down his long silver hair—a clear sign that he thought he had the upper hand in their exchange. "Why would you be so adamant about that strategy? You tried individual assassinations and an ambush, and you failed at both."

"Perhaps." Mordecai's smile was nasty. "But at least I was not defeated by a child."

Vren narrowed his eyes. "Our Matron Mother appointed me the leader of this group, and you will abide by her orders—and therefore mine. We will follow my plan."

_Appealing to the power of the matriarch,_ Mordecai thought with disgust. _Are you too much the fool to realize that you should not have to rely on anyone's power save your own?_ "Very well. Might I suggest that I take care of the human boy and the female, and that we wait to resume our efforts until the group heads for the ruins?"

"You leave me to kill Jarlaxle and the human assassin?" Vren seemed amused.

_Certainly. You'll be dead before you can land your first strike._ "Of course." Mordecai kept his glee hidden. "Would killing them not prove your superior skill?" He knew Vren couldn't disagree with the plan now, particularly since refusing would also underscore Vren's cowardice.

Vren looked rather like he was dangling over a pit of hungry spiders. "True enough. Very well."

Mordecai had to employ every ounce of his self control not to laugh again, especially considering the fact he was secretly making fools of them all. House Tuin'Tarl was just one more stepping stone, one more rung on a ladder. A tool to aid in a much larger chaos and victory.

Yes, Mordecai was amused, indeed.

* * *

Dawn brought relief from the rain, so Tai awakened to brilliant sunlight pouring through the window into Entreri's and Jarlaxle's room. The priest sat up in Jarlaxle's bed, which he'd taken over for the night, and scanned the room: the drow was gone, which was no surprise, and Entreri appeared to still be sleeping. The inn was shrouded in comforting silence, a stillness that seemed to suggest no one else was stirring. Tai couldn't even hear any sounds from the street yet, although when he climbed out of bed and glanced outside, he could see a few early risers walking down the wooden sidewalks. 

Movement in Tai's peripheral vision alerted him that Entreri was awake. The assassin extended his body into a luxurious, cat-like stretch, and then, as usual, he was wide awake. He sat up, pulled his dagger from its place in the wall, and eyed Tai.

"Good morning," the priest greeted him softly. The assassin seemed most in his element at night, and therefore was usually rather dour in the morning.

"As you say," was Entreri's neutral reply.

Tai started to smile, but a sudden thought stole it. "I wonder if Nyx returned safely."

"Jarlaxle said he'd attend to it," Entreri said. "Since he didn't awaken us with grim news, I assume she's fine." He climbed out of bed and began moving about the room.

Tai nodded and tried to have confidence in the assassin's logic. Still, since Entreri, Jarlaxle, and he had been unable to track his attacker, the drow could have easily tried to kill Nyx as soon as his arm was healed, assuming Mordecai would heal him. Furthermore, Entreri's comment that Jarlaxle would find Nyx and assure her safety hardly comforted Tai, given his current feelings about Jarlaxle . . .

The priest shook his head and gazed out the window as his thoughts threatened to overcome him. He needed to stop being so suspicious. Tai had analyzed the conversation between Jarlaxle and Mordecai that he'd overheard, and as a result, he had realized that Mordecai seemed disgusted that Jarlaxle would associate with humans. This left Tai with a question.

"How do drow view humans?" the priest asked, turning toward Entreri.

The assassin was lining up his shaving equipment, but at Tai's question he stopped and regarded the priest. "As insects, basically. We're less than nothing to them."

Tai wondered if the name Mordecai called him, _iblith_, meant "insect." Somehow, he suspected that it meant something much worse, and inexplicably, the priest's throat constricted. "Then why is Jarlaxle friends with you?" he managed to ask. "Why would he travel with three humans?"

Entreri shrugged. "Apparently he does not share their attitude. He has never seemed to mind the company of humans and in fact seems to enjoy it at times." A small smile bent up one corner of the assassin's mouth. "Jarlaxle is a very odd drow. I spent time in the drow city of Menzoberranzan, so allow me to assure you, Jarlaxle is one of a kind. All the other drow are like Mordecai."

Tai wrinkled his nose in disgust and felt his breathing grow shallower. Hoping to ease some of his tension, he turned back toward the window and stared at the growing crowd milling around the street. "If Jarlaxle knows that—and I know he does—then why did he leave me alone the night we were doing reconnaissance at the tower?"

A stretch of silence met this question. "Because you are an adult and a priest," came the reply at length. "We'd seen you fight before; you can hold your own. Besides, if you'll remember, we had not yet verified that we were dealing with drow."

Tai nodded, feeling both an odd stab of pain and a twinge of pride at Entreri's answer. His throat seemed to further constrict, and he hoped he wouldn't tear up. Not in front of Entreri, at least. "True eno—" The choking sensation grew, cutting off Tai's words, and the priest recognized it for what it was.

This had happened to him once before, four days earlier while he'd been bathing one night. He'd been pondering a similar question, and as he'd grown tenser and angrier, he'd suddenly begun to choke. The feeling reminded him of the choking and near suffocation he'd experienced under Mordecai's spell. Tai grabbed at his throat and desperately sucked in air. The resulting inhalation sounded more like a wheeze.

The priest suddenly had an assassin at his side. "Relax." Entreri's voice was forceful yet calm.

Tai took another wheezing breath.

"Look at me." It was a command that could not be disobeyed.

Tai glanced up and found his gaze captured by Entreri's to such a degree that he felt almost as though the assassin were transferring his composure into Tai's soul.

"Inhale slowly and deeply," the assassin said, still holding Tai's gaze. Entreri's power of personality was so immense that the priest felt as though Entreri were speaking directly to his soul. "Imagine your throat expanding."

Tai was reminded of his meditation and communing rituals; he touched the tip of his tongue to the roof of his mouth and breathed deeply. Minutes later, when Entreri blinked and broke their gaze, Tai realized that he'd forgotten he was choking.

"You need to stop brooding and staring out the window," the assassin said quietly. "You are only causing yourself damage."

Tai was speechless. Entreri hadn't said the words with any warmth or concern, yet somehow, Tai felt cared for. The priest realized belatedly that he felt almost peaceful. How was that possible? If Jarlaxle, or even Nyx, touched him or tried to comfort him, he became tense or irritated. Entreri could stand a mere foot in front of him and say six sentences, and Tai felt comfortable and reassured. Was it the difference in personalities? Jarlaxle's flamboyance and Nyx's pained concern versus Entreri's calm practicality? Or . . .?

"You're doing it again," Entreri stated. "Stop before you drive yourself mad." The assassin gave Tai a pointed look. "Listen. It's very simple. Nyx, Jarlaxle, and I are not going to betray you, and Mordecai is going to die a horrible death. That's all you need to know, and all you need to think about."

Tai watched the flash of anger and disgust cross Entreri's face as he mentioned Mordecai's name and had to wonder . . . was it Entreri's anger—oddly enough—which made him so comfortable to be around?

Tai wasn't sure. All he knew was that some part of Entreri's personality or attitude made him feel grounded. Stronger. In fact, the assassin's anger and cynicism reminded him of Hoar.

"Yes, that's it," the priest said, mostly to himself. "You remind me of Hoar."

Entreri looked like he'd been kicked in stomach. "I remind you of your deity?"

"He's the god of vengeance, and he takes great pleasure in poetic justice," Tai said. "The two of you are similar in your . . . uh . . . bitter humor."

Entreri raised an eyebrow at that. "Is that so?" He smirked, then shook his head. "Perhaps. But that begs one question: how did someone as even-tempered and joyful as you end up following such a god?"

Tai shrugged. "Because I was enraged over my brother's unjust execution and the resulting shame my family lived with."

"And now you are angry again." Entreri snorted. "Indeed, you should have heard the tone of your reply last night when Jarlaxle suggested you sleep in our room for safety."

Entreri's observation brought Tai pain; he knew well the price of rage and pessimism. "Well, it's not as if I'm a child," the priest explained. "He made it sound as though I was a five-year-old who needed his parents' protection."

"I don't think he meant it that way." Entreri turned and headed back to his shaving implements. "In his own strange way, he might have been concerned."

Tai kept his reply to himself, and he and Entreri got ready in short order then proceeded downstairs for breakfast. Nyx and Jarlaxle were waiting for them at a corner table and had already been served their food.

"Ah, so you are alive," Entreri greeted Nyx as he took a seat.

"Said with such concern," Nyx quipped.

"But of course," the assassin replied snidely.

Tai sat by Nyx and gazed at her as inconspicuously as possible. Her auburn hair was braided in a crown with three smaller hoop-braids looping across her neck. Under her leather vest, she was wearing a simple white shirt, its sleeves tucked neatly in leather bracers, and her grey cloak was pulled around her shoulders as though she were chilled.

The priest knew his friend had to feel his gaze upon her, but she didn't look up from her food. Concerned, he watched her outright. Despite her faintly tan complexion, Tai could see a few freckles racing across the bridge of her slender nose, and he felt surprised he'd never noticed them before. "Were you attacked?" he asked softly, assuming that Jarlaxle had told her of the previous night's events.

"No."

Nyx's short, emotionless answer told Tai she was upset. Although she had a vicious temper, Nyx actually had difficulty articulating herself when feeling hurt or distressed. "I'm sorry," he said.

The monk finally looked at him. "Don't worry about it. It's fine."

Tai gazed into dark brown eyes that were similar in hue to his own. She understood; he could tell. "Very well."

Jarlaxle was handing Entreri a brown package, and the rustling paper caught the priest's attention. As soon as Tai looked at the assassin, Entreri handed the package to him. "Here."

The drow chuckled. "Really, Artemis. Can you not be a bit more graceful with your words?"

Entreri glared at Jarlaxle. "What is there to say?" He turned back to Tai and gestured at the package. "I hope it fits. You were indisposed the morning I ordered it, so I had to estimate the measurements."

Overcome with curiosity, Tai ripped open the paper to find a superbly tailored black cloak made of the finest material he could imagine. He ran his hand across the fabric, stunned by its smoothness.

"I would say it's a late birthday gift," Jarlaxle said, "but when I accused Artemis of being thoughtful, he admitted he didn't know in advance that your birthday was yesterday."

Tai fingered the silver clasp at the neck of the garment. He couldn't even guess how much the cloak must have cost! "Thank you! I . . . why?"

"Your cloak was too bright in hue. You would stand out in the forest."

Tai smiled at Entreri's answer and carefully unfolded the cloak. To his amazement, a symbol had been stitched on the left breast: a gloved hand holding a coin depicting a two-faced head. Tai glanced up at Entreri. "You had them sew the symbol of Hoar on it!" He felt a lump in his throat, and this time he knew it was because he was moved.

The assassin was looking a bit grumpy by this point. "It is no great matter. Besides, you need the symbol, do you not?"

Tai was grinning. "Yes, quite." He stood and shed his tattered blue cloak, replacing it with the luxurious black one. It was a good fit. Tai ran his hand down his arm, feeling the cloak's material again. He didn't think he'd ever owned such fine clothing in his life!

Nyx looked back and forth between Tai and Entreri until the assassin narrowed his eyes at her. "What is it?"

"The two of you are like twins now," the monk commented, her tone indicating this wasn't necessarily a good thing.

Tai glanced at Entreri, then looked at Nyx. "How so?"

"You're both dressed in nearly solid black," she replied.

The assassin and Tai considered each other. Sure enough, Tai's riding outfit, cloak, and boots were all black, and Entreri's only nod to color was the brown leather belt pack around his waist. Everything else from the assassin's boots to his small, flat hat was black.

Jarlaxle sighed. "This will never do." He grinned at Entreri, as though they were sharing some deeper, private joke. "The boy really needs some color."

Tai pinned the drow with a stare. "Do not call me 'boy.' I am two years past the age of majority now."

Jarlaxle tried to look apologetic but failed miserably. "I am sorry, Master Vatoshie. Consider it a sign of my—"

"Advanced old age?" Entreri suggested. "You are practically ancient, are you not?"

The drow gave Entreri a mock glare. "Not at all! Although I surely have more experience, maturity, and wisdom than you."

The human and the elf were warming up for one of their verbal sparring contests, Tai could tell. He smiled and sat down, waving down a server as he did. He and Entreri needed to eat, and quickly. The group needed to head for the High Forest as soon as possible.

After all, Mordecai apparently had garnered more accomplices, who would not rest until he and his companions were dead and the mirror was found.

* * *

The chirping of crickets and singing of birds graced the air, along with the scent of pine and mint. A gentle breeze moved through the trees, sending the occasional green leaf whirling to the ground. The mid afternoon sun filtered through the canopy of the High Forest, reflecting against the hair—or hat, in Jarlaxle's case—of Nyx's companions. The light awakened the sheen of Tai's sleek black hair and revealed a surprising quality in Entreri's. The assassin had decided to shed his hat for the day, and as a result, Nyx noted that his hair was so inky black that a kaleidoscope of colors seemed mixed in it. Jarlaxle's purple hat, on the other hand, practically glowed in the illumination, and Nyx shuddered. How could any creature have such horrid taste? When she wasn't feeling mistrustful of the drow, she was genuinely intrigued by him and his lack of fashion sense. 

Nyx's wandering thoughts soon turned to more pressing matters. Since the High Forest was generally too dense for horses, they were proceeding on foot to the ruins, and that would cost the group four days—barring any setbacks. Their destination was southeast of Olostin's Hold and uncomfortably close to Turlan's Wood, but Nyx's main concern was that Mordecai and his new accomplice would reach the ruins first. She wasn't sure which she found the most disquieting: the possibility of the drow getting the mirror, or the fact they wanted to kill her and her friends.

The former, she decided. She could deal with the latter.

It occurred to Nyx, however—and not for the first time—that drow and magical artifacts weren't the only things they had to fear. Orcs, wild centaurs, darkenbeasts, dragons, ghasts, werebears, and wraiths . . . the list of dangerous creatures one could face in the High Forest was endless.

Since neither Entreri nor Jarlaxle had seemed bothered by Nyx's warnings the first time they'd entered the forest, the monk decided to try again. She moved up beside the assassin, leaving Tai and Jarlaxle to trail behind her. Entreri seemed a logical and practical man; perhaps she could impress the tactical danger upon him.

"I need to discuss something with you," she said.

The assassin glanced at her, his grey eyes expressionless. His aristocratic features made him handsome, but Nyx had rarely met someone with so little warmth. The only time he seemed remotely human was when he was interacting with Tai, a situation that fascinated the monk . . . and also bothered her. Nyx bit her lip momentarily, struck with jealousy. But no, she was wrong to feel so possessive toward the priest; he could have more than one friend!

"I wanted to talk to you about dangers of the forest," the monk began. "I'm sure you remember my mentioning it before."

Entreri nodded but kept his attention on the terrain. The path they followed wasn't much more than a deer trail. "I am no stranger to monsters, though I admit I don't care to ever face a dragon again."

Nyx cringed at the mere thought. "Unfortunately, we may indeed face a dragon or something equally dangerous during our trip," she said. "We need to be prepared."

Entreri briefly rested his hands on his weapons' hilts. "I am prepared, I assure you."

At this show of confidence, Nyx found herself smiling at him. Despite his petty effort to torment her the day before, she found there were things about Entreri she respected: his stoic calmness and his obvious work ethic, for example. It was apparent to her that the man wasn't easily shaken and that he didn't deviate from a course of action once it was taken. He would finish a task and finish it well.

"What is it?" Entreri asked.

Nyx started, realizing she'd nearly run into a sapling in her preoccupation. "Your pardon?"

"You were staring at me." The faintest of smirks tainted his facial expression.

She snickered, unable to contain her impish streak. "Just lamenting that you're so aloof and spiteful. If you weren't as chilly as hard-packed snow, you might be worth befriending."

The assassin scoffed. "You are critiquing me? You're rather distant and stiff yourself, when you aren't having outbursts of temper."

Feeling defensive, Nyx straightened her shoulders and glared at the man. "It is only that I am dedicated to my duty. I am not distant with those I _care_ about." She sniffed at him. "Besides, anger is a perfectly legitimate response to the raging injustices of the world."

"Or perhaps disgust," the assassin replied darkly.

Struck by his response, Nyx relaxed and smiled at him again. "Or disgust," she agreed easily. "That is why I chose to follow Hoar rather than a god such as Tyr. Hoar's anger and disgust toward injustice matches my own."

The assassin glanced at her. "I don't see why you enslave yourself to any god."

At the assassin's skeptical words, Nyx felt a familiar pang and cursed herself. Her inclination to help others attracted her to the suffering and downtrodden, especially those experiencing injustice; it was one reason she followed Hoar. Because of this tendency, Nyx found that Entreri's cynicism—which seemed to hint at buried grief—caused her a moment's concern on his behalf. "Not enslave," she replied, her tone kinder than she intended. She wanted to kick herself; despite her carefully fostered independence, she couldn't stop reaching out, a move which would likely prove dangerous with Entreri. "The choice to follow a god is just that—a choice. Your free will remains intact, as does your personality and freedom."

Entreri gazed at her silently for a moment. "You sound much like Tai."

Nyx found herself suddenly staring at her boots as she walked. "I can't imagine that." She honestly hoped Tai heard their conversation, which was likely considering Jarlaxle and the priest were walking only six or seven feet behind them. "While I am intensely dedicated to my duty, I do not possess Tai's natural wisdom or deep connection with Hoar."

The monk could feel Entreri's powerful stare upon her, and she forced herself to raise her gaze to meet his. For just an instant—a single second—a hint of respect seemed to pass between them, although Nyx had no idea what she had said that inspired the reaction from Entreri.

Hours later, after the group had set up camp for the night, the monk was still puzzling it over. The assassin could be so puzzling! She needed to dedicate more energy to figuring out the enigma of Artemis Entreri, though—as well as the perplexing Jarlaxle—because of Tai's relationship with and reactions to them. That, and the fact that Nyx was currently allied with the mercenaries. However, the monk decided to set the mystery aside for the night.

While the men prepared to rest—or commune, in Tai's case—Nyx tracked down the closest stream in order to fill her canteen. She would have first watch, and she didn't want to sit through it thirsty. The chill of the night didn't bother her since it would help her remain awake, but she hated feeling thirsty.

The creek she found suited her purpose nicely. As she descended its small bank, she could feel the drop in temperature, and she wondered if the creek flowed from one of the many caves or caverns in the area. Kneeling on an exposed rock, she plunged her canteen into the icy water and watched the air bubbles rise to the surface as the container filled.

The forest around her was unusually quiet, save for the occasional hooting owl, and the monk found herself relaxing in the silence. At the age of ten, shortly before her father had been killed, she'd moved with her family from Olostin's Hold to Silverymoon, but she found that her heart was more in tune with nature than with city living. Maybe it was the influence of her father, in fact, which caused Nyx to love nature; he had been a man equally at home in gardens and forests. With a sigh of appreciation, Nyx allowed her gaze to become caught in the moon's reflection, which shone off the creek to cast a silvery glow on the plants and trees.

Her task complete, Nyx stood and turned back toward camp. However, the intuition ingrained into her by her training alerted her to danger. Her senses tingled as she focused on her sight and hearing, as well as the other, unnamable sense she possessed which could enable her to react to attacks before they even happened.

Before her ears even registered the _whizzing_ sound, she _felt_ the dagger's approach and launched herself into a forward roll. The weapon buried itself into a tree five feet away as Nyx regained her footing, leaving her canteen on the ground.

"Most impressive. For a human."

Nyx narrowed her eyes as the person she hated most in the world separated from the shadows and leered at her. "_You,_" she spat.

Mordecai drew an odd, almost triangular shape in the air with one finger. "Yes, it is I. Of course, it is only destiny that our paths should cross, and it is even poetic that we should meet under the light of the moon."

Nyx's forehead creased as she frowned at the drow's odd speech. The cleric was trying to cast a spell on her; she was sure of it. Whatever it was, it wasn't working. "You should not speak of the poetic to me. As a follower of Hoar, I am compelled to use poetic justice to punish you—something you would very much not like." The monk drew her nunchaku.

Mordecai laughed. "Ah, poor foolish creature. You have no idea just how quickly you'll die—unless I decide to let you linger." The drow unsheathed his falchion and attacked.

Nyx struck outward with the nunchaku, deflecting Mordecai's initial strike, then kicked outward, directing her _ki_ through her body to exit through the sole of her foot. She meant to break Mordecai's hip as he passed, but he dodged the blow. Nyx instantly recovered, whirling her weapon before her body and knocking aside three quick sword thrusts from the drow. Then, with a twirl of her wrist, she wrapped the nunchaku around Mordecai's falchion and disarmed him. She struck outward at Mordecai's chest with her free hand, but her fist was stopped inches short of her target just as surely as if she'd punched a stone wall. It was as though the air itself had formed a barrier around the drow.

At the loss of his sword, Mordecai drew his daggers and rushed forward; unfazed, Nyx swung outward with her nunchaku once more, slapping both of the blades away and defeating his attack. Once again, she punched outward, and this time her fist connected, knocking the drow backward.

Quickly stowing her weapon, Nyx executed a round-house kick which connected solidly with Mordecai's jaw, wrenching his head to the side. The monk then jumped forward, deflecting both the drow's dagger strikes with her leather bracers before raining multiple blows upon his face and chest. With a growl, the drow snapped his daggers inward, but Nyx easily avoided being stabbed.

Mordecai sheathed one dagger. "_Versijin,_" he gasped, drawing a pattern in the air with two fingers. He rushed at Nyx then, and the monk punched with her right fist even as she blocked Mordecai's other dagger with her left arm. The drow, however, dodged the strike to his face and simply touched her arm.

Nyx jumped backward, feeling instantly queasy. What had the cleric done to her? She tried to shake it off, determined to kill the evil beast. However, Mordecai grinned at her like he'd already won. He stalked toward her, dagger raised, and Nyx lifted her arms into a defensive pose.

Streaks of silver flashed across the clearing, and Nyx heard multiple _thunks_ against Mordecai's armor as his back was hit. The drow jumped to the side just as Jarlaxle, Entreri, and Tai joined the fray. Mordecai instantly retreated, an endless stream of Jarlaxle's daggers following him. Entreri pursued, approaching the drow from an angle in order to avoid Jarlaxle's daggers.

To Nyx's frustration, Mordecai's body seemed to suddenly become gaseous, like vapor, and the drow's form raced away from them on the wind.

"Damn!" Entreri cursed, sheathing the blades he'd only just drawn.

"It appears we shall have to forfeit even our privacy for added safety," Jarlaxle commented.

"Surely not!" came Tai's horrified response. "You can't mean bathing, or—! Especially since Nyx is—is female!"

Nyx, however, couldn't add her opinion to the conversation. Feeling both nauseated and faint, she sank to her knees on the grass. She supposed she had one more thing for which to get retribution, now. Provided, of course, that she wasn't getting ready to die . . .

* * *

Jarlaxle stood with Entreri at the edge of the encampment and watched as Tai bent over the prone form of the monk. Entreri had snatched up the pallid woman and carried her back to the fire so they could assess her injuries, but Tai had taken over from there. Now the boy was putting his hand on Nyx's forehead, and when he did, she opened her eyes and smiled faintly at him. 

"I feel . . . weak and queasy," she whispered.

"Shhhh," Tai said. "I think you may have been poisoned." He kept one hand on her forehead, apparently in a comforting gesture, and held his other over her chest. He closed his eyes momentarily, praying under his breath, then gazed at her again. He waggled his fingers over her chest, and for a few seconds, a yellow glow outlined his hand. The glow transferred to Nyx's body, spreading from her solar plexus outward in a rippling effect.

Nyx took a deep breath and glanced up at Tai. "Wow. That was instant."

The priest smiled and lifted his hand from her face. "Good."

Nyx sat up and frowned. "I guess I'd better further my training so I can learn to heal myself," she said. "Looks like I'll need it."

Tai seemed pleased. "It shouldn't be overly difficult," he began, launching into a full-scale discussion about meditation with the monk.

Jarlaxle looked to Entreri, who had watched the scene in silence. "Interesting tactic Mordecai is using," the elf commented, "although I doubt I would use such an approach myself."

The assassin turned his attention to the drow. "Not efficient enough?" he quipped.

"Not wise enough," Jarlaxle corrected.

Entreri smirked. "It will just make it that much easier to defeat him. If he continues upon the same course of action, that is."

"After two losses?" the elf replied. "I'm unsure. I do wish the other drow had attacked instead, however."

"Why?"

"He might have been wearing his House crest, in which case I could have identified him," Jarlaxle said.

The assassin raised an eyebrow. "But you have other methods by which you can garner such information."

The drow merely smiled. The two mercenaries watched Tai's and Nyx's animated conversation for a few moments before speaking again.

"Your gift to Tai seems to have lightened his mood somewhat," Jarlaxle commented in a near-whisper.

Entreri shot the drow a warning look. "I doubt it. It was more likely my words this morning. I told him to stop brooding."

Jarlaxle chuckled. "I care not how you accomplished it, I am merely glad you did." He couldn't refrain from teasing the man, however. "Why, if you keep this up, you might actually become a good man."

Entreri's glare nearly gave the elf an instant sunburn. "It's merely tactically sound," the assassin said sarcastically.

Jarlaxle laughed. "As you say."

Entreri walked toward his bedroll, ostensibly turning a cold shoulder to Jarlaxle, but the elf wasn't fooled. The assassin might despise humankind—and drow—in general, but Jarlaxle felt confident that his animosity did not include Tai.

Or finely-dressed drow mercenaries, Jarlaxle thought with a grin before turning his mind to more pressing matters, such as drow assassins.

* * *

_A/N: Thank you, once again, to everyone who read and/or reviewed. Now, everyone please cyber hug the following people for beta reading, suggestions, and/or being a sounding board—and I don't just mean for this chapter. :D (listed in alphabetical order): Darkhelmet, Euphorbic, Matt, Rezuri, and Silverwolf._


	4. Chapter 4

_A/N: Disturbing images coming up. Do not read the first few paragraphs of the chapter if you are sensitive to the topic of rape._

* * *

"_Wonderful life, this. So much hardship for a pittance  
and the empty joys in reveling in the misery of others."—A.E._

**Chapter Four**

_A burst of cold air; a blue glowing dagger. In front of him, a leering drow, white teeth contrasting brightly with black skin. _

He'd seen that leer before—that rapist Nyx and he had executed four months earlier. He had to flee!

A whisper: "Sorenseth."

A blue flash crossed his vision—the glowing dagger, knocked from his hand, flying through the air, hitting the far wall with a thunk.

He couldn't move, couldn't breathe. A tightness in his throat. He was choking!

Tai struggled against the dream, knowing it was a dream but unable to escape it. He tried to force his eyes open or bite his tongue—anything! But he was paralyzed again.

_The drow forced him to bend over a table. Cool wood against his sweating face, the light of the dagger gone. Darkness. No, no! It was dream! He had to— _

The sound of ripping cloth. No. It was a dream! It—

Tai jerked awake and found himself breathless, sweating, and unable to move. For several long seconds, his entire body felt made of stone, then slowly the outside world filtered into his mind and enabled him to relax: the sound of the fire crackling, of crickets chirping, even the snapping of a twig under the weight of an unseen animal. As he cautiously looked around the camp, he saw that Nyx was sleeping, Jarlaxle was in Reverie, and Entreri was keeping watch. The assassin looked at Tai as he sat up, and the priest realized with a surge of near desperation that he needed to be alone. He stood quickly and walked over to the assassin. "I'll be right back, and I would prefer privacy."

Entreri nodded solemnly. "Mordecai may not have gone far. Don't venture too far; stay close enough that I can hear if anything goes amiss."

"I will," Tai said, turning away. He had the impulse to run from the encampment, but he forced himself to walk normally. However, once he was in the safety of the trees, he sank to the ground, his grief and shame overcoming him. He leaned forward, placing his palms on the cool grass, and let his hair fall forward and curtain his face. No one was present to see his flushed cheeks or grimace, but the depth of his emotions was so great he felt the odd need to hide it even from the forest.

It was that dream again! Every time he had it, his grief and humiliation seemed to return anew, overwhelming him and making him grow ever angrier. The dreams also forced him to reflect on things he didn't like, but despite his efforts to block them, the unwanted thoughts pierced his jumbled defenses: he should have been able to stop the rape from happening. The rape should have never happened at all! Tai felt disgusted with himself, and even though he believed it was unfair, he felt upset with Hoar, too.

_"Don't brood,"_ Entreri's advice echoed in his mind. But right now Tai didn't feel like brooding anyway—he felt more like getting revenge. He was tired of all the shame and grief, and he wanted to follow the teachings of his god and punish the person responsible. But as much as Tai wanted to aim his rage at Mordecai, he understood that some of it was aimed at himself. Worse still, as these emotions welled up in him, the priest found tears in his eyes. Tears! Again? He'd nearly cried several times over the past tenday, and he found that made him even angrier. Was he so weak?

Tai's rage surged through him at the thought, streaking through his body to pulse in his fingertips and leaving an icy burning in his chest. These emotions had to go away, these dreams, thoughts, and tears. Reacting with instinct born of desperation, Tai began punching the ground beneath him—punching it over and over until his knuckles bled—and oddly, with the pain the rage and shame subsided. His mind stilled for a moment, allowing him a chance to breathe, yet he found there was one thought that didn't lie still with the others: the one that threatened his very concept of his life and identity.

As usual, Tai didn't hear the assassin's approach, so when the man spoke, the priest jumped.

"It sounded like you were beating a small animal to death," Entreri quipped, "but I see you were beating yourself instead."

Tai straightened and allowed a snort to escape. "Just had to let out some excess anger."

Entreri knelt beside the priest and watched him. "You're not brooding again, are you?"

"No, not brooding," Tai said, cupping his bloody fist in his hand. He felt stupid suddenly, realizing he was going to have to heal himself. "Just angry. I seem to have some version of the same nightmare almost every night, and I'm sick of it."

The assassin nodded. "They will stop."

Tai glanced at him in surprise. "You seem so sure."

Entreri's jaw clenched, and Tai found himself wondering if he'd said something wrong. "Nothing lasts forever," the assassin said.

"Of course." The priest stared at the blood running down his knuckles for a moment; the red blood looked almost black in the dim moonlight. "Although I promise I'm not brooding, there is one last thing that bothers me," he whispered.

"Very well. Speak your mind." The assassin watched Tai for a moment, and then seeming to sense the priest's hesitance, Entreri reached into his belt pack and pulled out a roll of bandages. With methodical efficiency, Entreri set about bandaging the priest's hand, almost as though he were giving Tai a chance to compose himself.

Tai watched the assassin's efforts and worked up the courage to tell him what was on his mind. The very idea seemed blasphemous, but Tai wanted to get the worry off his chest before it drove him mad.

After Entreri tied the knot on the makeshift bandage, he looked up and locked gazes with Tai. "Well?"

Tai sighed and forced himself to speak. "I'm wondering . . . was this all a test from Hoar?" The priest didn't really expect an answer from the assassin, but he knew Entreri would hear his words without being scandalized, whereas Nyx might be disturbed by his doubts. "Was this some test to see if I'm good enough? Or is it punishment instead? Am I being punished for some way in which I've failed Hoar?"

Entreri frowned and seemed to think a moment before answering. "Frankly, I would never consider the possibility that it was a test. From what you've told me, I'm forced to conclude Hoar is not like Lolth or other such deities, who would issue a test for the purpose of chaos and torture. In fact, such a test seems quite opposite from your description of Hoar and what he values. As for punishment, I don't know much about gods, but it's only logical that Hoar would not seek vengeance against you unless you strayed from his path. I doubt that you have done that."

Tai nodded. Entreri might not know much about gods, but there was sense in what he said. "I suppose you're right," the priest said, realizing that all he'd really needed was to hear someone else confirm what he wanted to believe . . . what he knew he _should_ believe and have faith in.

"As I've told you before, you think too much," Entreri said quietly. "Your strength will see you through this. Focus on that instead."

"I don't feel strong at the moment," Tai whispered, more to himself. The instant he said the words, however, he regretted them; his assassin friend really didn't seem like the type to sympathize with such a declaration.

Sure enough, Entreri scowled. "You must have absolute faith in yourself, or you will indeed grow weak."

Tai cringed at the assassin's harsh tone and felt more deeply stung than he wanted to acknowledge. He felt like a fool, suddenly. "Yes, of course. You're quite right," the priest replied, realizing in a detached way that his tone had gone flat. At the same time, he experienced a growing anger at Entreri's rebuke. How dare Entreri treat him so! Was he not in enough pain already?

Entreri's scowl multiplied exponentially. "Hells!" For a moment the man seemed genuinely frustrated. "I'm simply telling you to stop doubting yourself. It is unlike you to lack confidence and conviction."

"Ah," Tai replied snidely, his anger getting the best of him. "So my admission did not just prove me weak and unworthy in your sight?" Even as he spoke the words, the priest realized he was sincerely worried beneath his sarcasm.

The assassin's scowl evaporated into a smug grin. "That's better." He pointed to the symbol stitched on Tai's cloak. "Inner conviction to carrying out vengeance. As a cleric of Hoar, does that not describe you? Be sarcastic, if you like, but do not fall into self-doubt or fear. Such things will only cause your death."

Tai watched the man for a moment and then allowed himself to relax. So the assassin wasn't rebuking him after all. Tai nodded at Entreri's advice, and for an odd moment, he felt as though he were playing the role of the pupil once again. Well, he did suppose Entreri was around the same age as his uncle, who had trained him; maybe it made sense that he'd feel that way around the assassin at times.

Entreri stood. "Now come back to camp. Dawn will come too soon, and we've had an eventful night."

Tai stood as well, following Entreri back to camp. Really, though, the priest's earlier promise to only ask one last question had been a lie. Several questions bothered him, and while he was willing to accept Entreri's logic about tests and punishments, the other questions remained. For example, why Tai had drawn a male predator? Not only had Mordecai raped him, Tai had also once fought a man who claimed to want to rape him: one of the rapists he and Nyx had executed had made it clear that he would have given much to have made Tai his final victim. A pattern was threatening to emerge. Was there something wrong with him that he would draw such predators? Was he inherently weak? Or was there some quality about him that caused him to specifically draw males? It was not a comforting thought.

Equally bothersome was the question of why Mordecai had chosen to rape him instead of kill him or torture him for information. And why had Mordecai said the rape was "for Entreri?"

Tai halted in his tracks and stared at Entreri's receding form. Why "for Entreri," indeed? The assassin had said the previous day that all other drow were like Mordecai . . . and he'd exhibited a rare show of temper when he'd learned Tai had been raped. In fact, mere minutes earlier he'd assured Tai—with complete confidence—that the nightmares would stop. During his stay in Menzoberranzan, had Entreri been—

Tai shook his head violently and resumed walking. No. No, he could not imagine that a man as formidable and skilled as Entreri would have lost a fight with a drow and ended up being—

No. It wasn't possible. The priest dismissed the thoughts. Besides, Entreri was right. Brooding about any of these questions would not help. Tai would pray and meditate, but past that, he simply needed to watch the course of events and see what transpired.

All answers would become clear with time.

* * *

Mordecai stared at Vren. Vren stared at Mordecai. The contest lasted for several moments and was broken only by the Secondboy's growing smirk.

"A mere human defeated you?" Vren taunted, flipping his long silver braid over his shoulder. "I thought your fighting skills were so superior to mine that you could easily kill the female."

At this statement, the forest grew unnaturally still, seeming to reflect the tension between the Secondboy and the cleric. Not even the wind dared to blow; the trees remained motionless and the birds quiet. The three Tuin'Tarl soldiers followed suit, remaining as silent and unmoving as statues as Mordecai reported his failure to kill the monk.

"Actually, Jarlaxle and his other two pet humans found me and joined the fight," Mordecai said with a near snarl.

Vren's large golden eyes reflected his glee. "But you're so great and powerful! Couldn't you kill them all in a single fight?"

Mordecai felt his eyes narrowing and reminded himself sternly that he couldn't afford to lose his temper. Too much rode on his successful acquisition of the mirror . . . a goal Vren was getting in the way of. Still, if Mordecai could bring himself to work with Vren instead of fight against him, more could be accomplished.

The cleric bent down and picked up Cat, who was sniffing his boots, and stroked her soft fur as he considered the annoying drow before him. Was there even the slightest chance that this idiot—or the three soldiers who had accompanied him—could come to understand the necessity of throwing off the shackles of the matriarchy? To find the mirror and use it to advance the unification and power of the drow as a whole?

Mordecai noted that Vren was tucking a stray strand of hair back into his braid and was sneering at Cat. Somehow, the cleric wasn't feeling too hopeful. He wondered fleetingly how Vren would react if he found out Mordecai was a cleric, not just a warrior.

"I'm not surprised in the slightest that you failed," Vren said in the face of Mordecai's silence. "You've become weak. Look at you! You pander to and shower attention upon some worthless surface animal!"

Mordecai considered the fluffy white creature in his arms. Its chest was vibrating again, and it had lifted its chin so the drow could scratch under its jaw. He smiled back up at Vren. "I prefer the company of the beast to you. It is more intelligent and is a much more efficient killer."

Vren laughed. "That beast? Don't be ridiculous. It would flee at the sight of even the smallest of our pet spiders."

"We'll see if you still say that after you've annoyed it." The cleric patted his possession on the head. "Cat will shred you just as surely as the human boy did."

Vren looked utterly incredulous. "You said that with pride." His grin grew nasty as his gaze zeroed in on the animal. "Do you . . . care . . . for the creature?"

Mordecai wondered briefly if there was a way to gift Cat with poisoned claws or fangs so she could kill the pest. "It is merely a piece of property, like a sword or dagger. It can be replaced." He smirked. "As can you."

Vren straightened his shoulders and glared at the cleric, but Mordecai knew Vren really couldn't argue the point. In his mother's and sisters' eyes, he was expendable. "If I am replaceable, so are you," the Secondboy replied.

Mordecai, despite his hatred of Vren, decided to make his one and only effort to garner the male's cooperation, if only to use him for a short while. "Then allow us to retrieve the mirror first and deal with Jarlaxle and his pets later. With the mirror in our possession, we will be not so easily discarded."

Vren, to his credit, seemed to catch the change in attitude that accompanied Mordecai's words. "You sound almost as though we could use the _Kagaor ki Tamal_ to empower ourselves."

Mordecai's smile wasn't much more than a show of teeth. "_We've_ been sent to collect it," he said, testing Vren's response. He also kept an eye on the reactions of the three soldiers, who were standing in his periphery.

Vren's face showed a war of conflicting emotions, and the soldiers looked caught somewhere between fear and interest. Mordecai had never met a male drow yet who didn't resent the matriarchy, but given the Secondboy's cowardice, the cleric was unsure that Vren could muster the nerve to rebel.

Another lengthy silence descended upon the forest, but this time nature flowed around them: a rushing of wind sent tree leaves and flower petals swirling about them, and Mordecai heard howling in the distance.

Apparently, Vren's pride and power-lust won. "Intriguing idea."

It was the smartest thing Mordecai had heard the Secondboy say yet. "Then let us turn our attention to retrieving the mirror first. All I have learned of it suggests it is of great power; we can deal with Jarlaxle and his pets once we have it."

Vren hesitated but ultimately agreed. "Very well. But there is one problem—do you not think that our Matron Mother will expect this treachery?"

Although Mordecai didn't doubt that Vren had ulterior motives for agreeing with his plan, the cleric smiled at the Secondboy. "But of course. However, given the new information I have gathered concerning the mirror's power, I do not believe she can muster any defense great enough to defeat us once we have it."

Vren smiled nastily, and Mordecai allowed himself to share that smile. The cleric then descended into pleasant daydreams of all the ways he'd torture Jarlaxle and his pets—especially the irritating human boy—once he had turned the mirror's potent psionics upon them.

* * *

"What a beautiful morning!" Jarlaxle smiled at the grumpy assassin traveling beside him. Entreri scowled at him, and Jarlaxle laughed. They were still two full days away from the ruins, assuming that they made good time, and the assassin was having to forcibly maintain his patience. His desire to kill Mordecai had been increased by the drow's momentary appearance the night before.

The elf knew he was correct about its being a beautiful morning, however. The morning sunlight filtered through the trees to create a golden-green glow in the forest, and the sweet scents of flowers Jarlaxle couldn't identify perfumed the air. Squirrels leapt from branch to branch in the canopy above their heads, and a slow, graceful insect with brightly-colored wings flitted across their path.

Jarlaxle's curiosity was captured by the bug. "Artemis, what is that lovely insect called?" He pointed to the winged creature.

The assassin followed his gaze. "It's a butterfly."

"How delightful! Are they always so bright yellow?"

Entreri looked like he was gathering his patience. "No. They come in a wide variety of colors."

"Really?" Jarlaxle's grin grew exponentially. "Wonderful! Such as?"

From her position in the lead, Nyx glanced back at Jarlaxle with a grin, which pleased the elf. However, Tai, who was walking by Nyx, apparently had decided to ignore both Jarlaxle's words and Nyx's reaction—he didn't so much as glance as his companions.

Entreri had sighed. "Some are white; some are purple. I've seen red and orange ones and even black, brown, and green ones. And some are multi-colored." He shrugged. "It just depends, I guess. I've never really paid much attention to it."

The elf chuckled. "For someone who never paid much attention, you gave me an impressive list of colors."

The assassin narrowed his eyes. "Well, I am a man a details, which is perhaps why I, more than others, am able to fully appreciate how truly gaudy your clothing and jewelry are."

Jarlaxle merely grinned again. Imperceptibly, he began to slow his pace, hoping that Entreri would either consciously or unconsciously match his stride. Nyx was taking point for the first half of the day—a task that she and Entreri split since they were the most experienced at traveling through the wilderness. Fortunately, Tai had decided to walk beside the monk and talk to her, likely in an effort to better balance his attention between Entreri and the monk. The boy's timing was convenient. If they continued talking and if Jarlaxle could put more distance between them, the elf could speak to Entreri privately.

A few minutes later, Jarlaxle's plan paid off: Nyx and Tai were deep in discussion, and the distance between the two pairs was acceptable. The drow looked at Entreri again and mustered a serious expression.

The assassin was quick to take the cue. "What?" he asked in a near whisper.

"I thought I heard a commotion in the early morning hours," Jarlaxle replied.

Entreri scowled at him. "It was nothing."

The elf smiled. "You mean it was nothing you couldn't handle. I daresay your ability to help Tai is increasing daily!"

Entreri gave him a hard look. "If you already knew what happened, why ask?"

"I don't know the details." Jarlaxle used his innocent grin.

"Why do you need to know the details? As long as our cleric remains functional, that is all that matters," the assassin said coldly.

Jarlaxle chuckled, unwilling to allow Entreri to get away with it this time. "Surely you do not mean to imply that this is purely business? Or that you are secretly enjoying Tai's pain?"

The assassin's resulting glare of disgust made Jarlaxle reconsider his approach. Entreri pointedly looked away, clearly implying that he would not lower himself to answering such a question.

"Mercy can save your soul or damn your body," the elf said softly, echoing words he'd said to Drizzt—a concept he'd come to understand all too well through his relationship with the drow who had begun his weapons' training. Was it his experience with his mentor that now inspired Jarlaxle to "teach" Entreri? Perhaps in part, the elf admitted to himself.

Entreri's sharp gaze had returned to him. "I thought the point of this exercise was to fortify our defenses, not get us killed."

Jarlaxle stared at the narrow, leaf-covered trail before them. "It is. But my words are still quite true. In drow society—or in Calimport's underbelly—you can choose to either remain alive and successful or to have a soul." The elf caught the grave note in his voice and forced a smile as he looked back at Entreri. "Unless, of course, you can manipulate your situation to allow you both."

Entreri's expression was cryptic. "But there is no gain to be had in that."

"Some gains are not material, of course," Jarlaxle replied. "And why would you not fight to allow your soul the freedom to follow its own course? Why would you let yourself be constrained by anything? If I wanted to follow the rules, the so-called inevitability of my world, I would be yet another insignificant drow male." The elf regarded his friend. "If you allow yourself to be so limited, how can you ever enjoy your life?"

Entreri's tone was condescending. "Mercy brings joy?"

"Past acts of mercy can become effective bargaining tools if handled properly," Jarlaxle said with a smirk. "Living beyond what your world dictates as necessary brings joy."

The assassin stared at Jarlaxle for several minutes, and the elf had the odd sensation that he was being mentally dissected. Jarlaxle turned his attention to his surroundings again and watched a second butterfly flutter in his direction. He stopped suddenly and grinned.

"Oh! Do you think I can get the butterfly to light on me?" he asked Entreri. "I'd like to study it up close!"

The assassin's sneer was classic. "If you're very still and silent, it might think you're an oversized flower and land on you."

Jarlaxle laughed but ended up not replying since the insect was growing closer. He held out his left hand to intercept the creature's flight path and then went motionless. Since he suspected that the odds of the butterfly landing on him were not in his favor, Jarlaxle was genuinely surprised when the insect headed straight for his hand and landed on his ring finger.

"Well, they do say elves are inherently in tune with nature," Entreri commented sarcastically as though he'd read the drow's mind.

The butterfly took a few steps up Jarlaxle's finger and tickled him. Much amused, the drow slowly drew his hand closer and scrutinized the butterfly. Its yellow wings were rimmed in black, with four black lines running down each wing. Its actual body was small and furry, and its antennae were tiny. Jarlaxle was completely charmed. "It's cute!"

Entreri appeared ready to choke, which made it worthwhile to the elf. However, suddenly the assassin's entire posture and body language changed to an attitude of alertness and tension. Jarlaxle glanced at him sharply, then looked further up the trail, where Tai and Nyx had halted twelve feet away. Both of them seemed on guard as well, and being ever paranoid, Jarlaxle turned all his senses upon the forest and gently shook the butterfly free of his hand.

It was there, all right—a sense of being watched. The elf couldn't see anything, but with the cessation of talking, his keen hearing quickly picked up on rustling leaves. Jarlaxle met Entreri's gaze and an acknowledgement passed between them. The assassin placed both his hands on his weapons' hilts.

What burst out of the brush, though, was not drow—they were red-eyed, grey-furred creatures the size of horses.

"Dire wolves!" Entreri exclaimed, drawing his blades.

Jarlaxle didn't hesitate as approximately a dozen wolves descended upon the group; the elf engaged the magical enchantment upon his cloak and drew a wand in one hand even as he aimed his throwing daggers with the other. As the first dire wolf attacked, Jarlaxle struck it with a bolt of lightning, then launched five daggers into its neck, killing it.

Over the growling, the drow heard Tai yell, "Give me cover!" Several moments later, a brilliant silver orb appeared on the trail between Jarlaxle and Entreri's position and Nyx and Tai's. With a surge of sparks, the orb coalesced into the form of a black bear. Rearing up onto its hind legs, the bear roared and then lunged at the nearest dire wolf.

Jarlaxle was impressed with Tai's successful summoning of a celestial ally, but he didn't have time to dwell upon it. A horse-sized wolf jumped toward him, its fangs bared. The drow rained a dozen daggers upon it in less than a second, then watched with amusement as the magic of his cloak forced the animal to miss him. Not one to waste an opportunity, Jarlaxle struck it with a dozen more daggers.

Beside the elf, Entreri parried two wolves' bites by slicing their faces with his blades. Quickly, the assassin jumped backward then charged the first beast at an angle, stabbing through the wolf's side. The second wolf shook its head as though it were trying to throw off the gash to its face, then launched itself at Entreri again. The assassin disengaged his sword from the first wolf's corpse and met the beast's charge head-on, shoving Charon's Claw down the dire wolf's throat at an angle, driving the blade upward into its brain.

Several feet away, the bear that Tai had summoned grappled with one wolf, and even as Jarlaxle glanced in their direction, the bear clamped its jaws upon the wolf's neck, breaking it. Tai himself was wielding his daggers, which glowed gold with magical power, against another dire wolf. An unseen shield seemed to help protect the boy from the animal's bites.

At the same time, Nyx was executing a devastating punch against her opponent's head, and a burst of green light accompanied her strike. The dire wolf's entire skull glowed from the _ki_ blast, and it was thrown backward into a tree. A second wolf lunged at her side, but the monk whirled around, kicking the beast in the knee. Even over the growling and yelping, Jarlaxle could hear the beast's knee joint shatter.

Jarlaxle altered his strategy as another dire wolf attacked him. Engaging his innate ability to levitate, the drow rose above the animal and filled its back with a hail of daggers. Smiling at the result, Jarlaxle created a perfect row of daggers down its spine.

Below the elf, Entreri charged a dire wolf from behind and vaulted onto its back. Before the animal even had a chance to react, the assassin drove Charon's Claw through its neck at the base of the skull. A second wolf leapt at Entreri as he jumped to the ground, but the animal bounced off the air in front of Entreri just as surely as though it had hit a castle wall face-first. Without hesitation, Entreri leveled his sword against the second wolf in a flurry of strikes that caused blood to spray into the air.

Then, as suddenly as the attack had begun, it was finished. Jarlaxle considered the damage from his position several feet above the ground: dead wolves littered the ground around each combatant including the bear, which apparently had died fighting the beasts. Blood soaked the ground, giving a red cast to the grass or mixing with mud to create the appearance of red clay. Although Jarlaxle and Entreri had managed to avoid injury, Nyx and Tai both sported a bite wound: the monk on her thigh, and the priest on his arm.

Jarlaxle slowly lowered himself to the ground and looked to Entreri, who was smirking. "I see you figured out your ring. Do you like it?" the elf asked, pointing toward the silver band on the assassin's middle finger.

Entreri shrugged. "I found it marginally helpful."

Jarlaxle laughed. "It is more powerful than you think, then. You will need to further explore its abilities." With a smile, he turned away, heading for Nyx and Tai. Entreri followed close behind.

"How serious are your wounds?" the elf asked.

Tai stowed his daggers and exhaled heavily. "It is nothing I cannot heal."

Nyx watched the boy with concern. "Do not exhaust yourself! Jarlaxle can heal us, too."

Entreri had approached Tai and grasped his bloody arm. Jarlaxle hid a smile at the way the assassin examined the wound. Of course, Entreri did not appear concerned; the man's facial expression was as stoic as ever. Still, the assassin's interest betrayed what Entreri himself likely either could not or refused to acknowledge.

"Indeed," Entreri commented. "The injury is not as serious as the amount of blood implies."

Tai gazed at the assassin with an expression Jarlaxle couldn't quite place—although the emotion of respect or perhaps even adoration was mixed in—but it was Nyx's reaction that truly fascinated the drow. The woman started to frown, then slowly smiled instead as though two opposing feelings crashed within her.

Jarlaxle stepped toward Tai. "Allow me to heal you, and then you may in turn heal Nyx. Would that be acceptable?"

The priest stared at Jarlaxle for several seconds before relaxing. "Very well."

_And here begins the long road of winning back Tai's trust,_ Jarlaxle thought with an unfamiliar pang. _It's ironic that I managed to unintentionally drive away the only person I've ever known who didn't prejudge me._

As the drow withdrew his healing orb from his belt pack, he admitted to himself that he was more interested in the concept of trust than he liked. _It's a dangerous game I play,_ he thought. _Can I truly win the prize without getting myself killed?_

_The answer to that question has to be 'yes,'_ the elf thought, raising his orb and enacting its spell. For had he not just preached to Artemis about a life without limitations?

_A life without limitations: a body with a soul . . . and not only that, but a drow with a surface empire? An empire truly separate from Menzoberranzan and its ties?_ Jarlaxle thought with a brief smile at the now-healed boy before him. It was a possibility that the elf's mind could not seem to leave alone, and Jarlaxle's growing fascination with the idea left the increasingly rebellious elf lost in tactics and strategies, goals and forecasts (as well as several contingency plans). Industry, profit, organization, implementation. Success.

Entreri apparently noted the elf's widening grin because he turned his attention away of Tai's healing of Nyx and raised an eyebrow at him. "The look on your face is positively ecstatic. Dare I ask?"

"I was just contemplating a truth," Jarlaxle said, spreading his arms wide. "Why think small when you can plan big?"

The assassin snickered. "Yet another profundity from The Self-Important Enigma."

As usual, the drow laughed. "An enigma to one such as you, perhaps," he replied. "And not so much a profundity as a plan." _A plan to escape the tiresome struggles of Menzoberranzan forever and take from life everything I never dared to believe was possible._

The trick, of course, would be making sure Menzoberranzan did not try to recapture him and rebind him to it. However, Jarlaxle had faced many obstacles in his life and had no doubt he could overcome such problem if it arose.

_It's a wonderful life,_ Jarlaxle thought, _when you make it so._

* * *

_A/N: As always, thanks to all my readers and reviewers. _

Rezuri has once again illustrated scenes for this story. You can find them at the site Deviant Art.


	5. Chapter 5

"_A life without hope is not a life at all."—Nyx _

**Chapter Five**

Nyx dropped her pack on the grass but kept an eye on the lively drow and irritated assassin before her. The group had located a suitable forest clearing in time for dinner, which was fortunate, but her two dangerous companions looked like they were preparing for an argument. Tai, who stood just behind her shoulder, sat his pack on the ground and then peered around her to watch the festivities.

"You did not!" Jarlaxle exclaimed, his eyes wide with mock horror.

Nyx relaxed slightly, realizing that the drow, at least, wasn't overly serious.

"It is not as though it matters," the assassin snapped, crossing his arms.

The monk exhaled in relief—Entreri was too animated for a genuine argument. Genuine argument for Entreri meant frosty death glares, little or no words, and rather quick death.

"The horror of it!" Jarlaxle flung both hands into the air.

Entreri scoffed. "You just want an excuse to act melodramatic."

"But it was a gift!"

The assassin seemed unmoved. "It is not as though _you_ crafted it."

Nyx simply stared at the two males before her. Some men bonded by beating up each other; some bonded by getting drunk together. But Entreri and Jarlaxle bonded by trying to verbally flay or outwit each other.

Jarlaxle had his hand pressed to his chest in a theatrical gesture. All of nature seemed to attend to his performance, as though the forest clearing were his stage: the canopy of leaves parted, allowing a thin crimson sunray to light the elf's face, and a breeze blew through the trees, ruffling the monstrous plume in his hat. "Perhaps I did not fashion the bolero with my own two hands, but I had it created especially for you! And now you've lost it!"

Entreri seemed unmoved. "It was a _hat_."

Tai snorted and turned away, no doubt feeling a bit too tired to stomach the mercenaries' idiosyncrasies; Nyx wanted to snort as well but didn't. She wasn't surprised, really, that Entreri had lost the hat—since it was unnecessary in the cover of the forest and more uncomfortable than anything given the heat and humidity of the midday, Entreri had taken off the hat the day before and somehow attached it to his pack. No doubt he'd lost it during the fight with the dire wolves that had occurred only a few hours later.

Jarlaxle had continued speaking. "A special, magical hat," he corrected Entreri.

"It can be replaced," the assassin insisted. "The loss of anything so easily replaceable should not warrant a second thought."

The drow feigned horror. "So callous of you!"

Nyx shook her head at the two mercenaries' antics and then turned to speak to Tai. Her head jerked back in surprise as she found herself preparing to speak to a tree. Tai had slipped away.

"Blast," she muttered. "He's going to get himself killed!" She supposed she couldn't blame him for wanting privacy while relieving himself—if that was what he was doing—but Mordecai or the other drow might attack again at any time. Resolute in her intention to find the priest, and quickly, she set about searching.

Fortunately, it only took a few minutes to find him. Tai was resting on a large, exposed tree root about fifteen feet away from the clearing and was busy sharpening one of his daggers with a whetting stone. He didn't look up as Nyx approached, and the scene struck the monk profoundly: the priest's hair hung about his lowered head like a curtain, and the branches of the tree he sat under seemed to bend downwards around him, almost as though the tree were trying to embrace and protect him. Nyx watched the leaves' silver undersides flip in the wind and decided that if she were imaging human intentions from a tree, she needed sleep. Badly.

Still, the trees did create a wall on all sides of them, granting the illusion of privacy, and the scent of jasmine and the hooting of owls provided an almost tranquil atmosphere. Tai, however, seemed ill-at-ease, almost tortured.

Nyx stared at the young man before her and frowned. He needed help; of that, she had little doubt. "I have something I need to say," she said, preparing herself for the irritation or resistance she assumed she'd meet.

Tai finally paused and looked at her. "What?"

Nyx steeled herself. "It's about a concern that I think must be bothering you." _One of many,_ she thought, _but we might as well start with this conversation, since it's likely the most pressing one, my dear priest._

At this proclamation, Tai returned his attention to sharpening his dagger, doubling the force of his effort and filling the air with harsh scraping noises.

Undeterred, Nyx sat beside him. "Over the last tenday or so, I've listened to you—and Entreri, for that matter—say several things about Hoar or gods in general," she began, "so I want to remind you of a conversation we once had about the assumptions people have about their gods."

Tai didn't respond, but he eased off the sharpening of his dagger so that scraping wasn't so loud.

"Remember about five months ago, we talked about how many people believe that if their god is good or just, their lives will be basically smooth, free of any serious hardships or problems."

"Sure. A perfect life," Tai said sarcastically, still training his stare upon his task.

Nyx smirked. "Yes, we all know it's not true. But we both know many people believe that their problems mean their god has abandoned them. Whether they realize it or not, they assume that the gods exist to make their lives easy and happy, and they treat their gods like magical charms. However, it doesn't work that way. The goodly or just gods are concerned for their followers, but they don't exist to grant our every whim."

Tai gave Nyx an irritated glance. "Yes, I know; I remember our conversation perfectly well. You know I never believed such a thing of Hoar. It's just that . . ." He looked away as his words trailed off, and he set down the whetting stone and dagger.

"I know you don't," Nyx said gently. "You've grown too wise to err in such a manner. However, the difficulty you've had, at times, communing with Hoar suggests that you are feeling uncertain or off-balance—maybe even betrayed. But remember, my friend, that nature itself is a mirror for what life is. Nature is equal parts beauty and destruction, and our lives contain beauty and pain as well. There is no exception to this rule; even the gods themselves suffer pain, sadness, and occasionally death. Given that fact, we gain nothing from turning away from our god in anger or disbelief."

Tai exhaled heavily. "I'm not going to turn away from Hoar. I just . . . have questions."

Nyx nodded. "That's understandable and normal. But allow me to encourage you." She smiled at her young friend. "Hoar's attributes haven't changed because of what happened to you. Hoar is still Hoar, and the world is still the world—evil and unjust. Hoar hasn't changed, and Hoar's respect for you hasn't changed." Nyx cringed, not wanting to admit the next part. "Only your viewpoint has changed."

Tai glanced at her sharply. "Can you fault me for that?"

Nyx paused and bit her lip thoughtfully. "No. Just don't fall into despair," she said. "Remember, for every tragedy that befalls us, the goodly gods will gift us with the ability to both survive and prosper. This is true of Hoar as well." She smiled at him once more. "But as you well know, prosperity is a quality of the spirit and mind, not a bag of gold coins or a pain-free life, and you must accept the gift, work to embrace it."

"I know," Tai whispered, returning his gaze to the ground. "And I am not asking for a life without pain. I had only wondered if maybe Hoar was . . ." The priest paused, seeming uncomfortable. "I feared Hoar was . . . testing or punishing me."

Nyx was momentarily taken aback, but as she considered it, the fear made sense. "Never," she said resolutely. "Hoar is a just god, and you've followed his creed diligently. Don't worry yourself with such thoughts." The monk paused and slapped her hands against her thighs with an air of finality. "Now, do what you do best: focus on vengeance and commune nightly, and in the meantime, take what comfort and joy you can from the people and environment around you. It might be as simple as a beautiful sunrise or a smile from a friend."

Tai cringed, and Nyx knew she'd hit a sore spot. "Yes, I know I told you the story about my brother, too," he replied, "But—"

_Too?_ Nyx thought. "But nothing. You already know everything you need to know: as you've told me, what you pursue in life is what you will find. Pursue vengeance and peace, and you will find them. But most of all, keep hope."

Tai nodded, but still his gaze remained on his feet. Nyx realized she was pushing him rather hard, but they would be facing Mordecai in battle again soon, and Tai would need to be at his best.

The monk stood and headed for their encampment. "Are you coming?" she asked.

"I'll be right there," Tai said.

Nyx walked slowly, not wanting too much distance between herself and Tai, given the danger they were all in. But her focus on the man behind her resulted in a moment's surprise when she nearly ran into the man who was suddenly in front of her.

Entreri looked unusually grave. "Camp is ready."

Nyx had to wonder how much of her speech the assassin had heard. At first, the thought that the assassin might have eavesdropped irritated her, but when she considered all she'd said, she found herself hoping that he had, in fact, overheard. "Ah, yes. Thank you for telling me."

Entreri turned and walked away without another word, and Nyx felt the pang again—the same impulse she'd felt when they'd discussed gods two days earlier. _That man is carrying some deep scars,_ she thought. _I can just sense it!_

The pang made Nyx want to help the man. For all the gods, she couldn't seem to stop herself from reaching out to the wounded! While she'd focused an aspect of this tendency into her holy duty—had built a career out of helping the downtrodden—she still had to resist the urge to try to fix people.

_Don't do it,_ she chided herself. _That's dangerous territory. He's an assassin, and I doubt he wants anyone's help for anything._

Her natural instinct to help did not abate, however. "No," she whispered.

No. She knew all too well that she could not fix people. Her role in life was to avenge the broken, or—in the case of the few friends she'd allowed herself—to protect them from being broken. And, frankly, she didn't feel she'd been successful with the latter.

It was just as well that she knew better than to try fixing others, Nyx thought with a smirk. When it came to Entreri, probably all she could do without getting herself killed was simply befriend the man. Maybe. Even that seemed unlikely . . . especially when the man was trying to purposely irritate her. Still . . .

_I care too much,_ she thought. _I have always cared too much, and that has been part of my problem, even the source of my anger._

However, even though she believed there was a burden or danger to caring, she couldn't stop herself, and she couldn't condemn herself for the trait.

It did, after all, make her human.

* * *

Mordecai knelt on the rocks by the narrow river and watched the water rush over the smooth, grey stones. White caps formed as the river water broke over the larger rocks, and the crimson sunlight reflected off the water's surface to create a glare in the drow's eyes. The cleric accepted the pain, however, because this was part of the world that rightfully belonged to him and his kin. 

In the calmer water at his feet, Mordecai could easily see the stone riverbed and darting fish, and all round him, massive trunks of towering trees crowded the shore. To the cleric, it was all beautiful—the clear water, the tiny fish, the red-barked tress, the chirping birds—and he wanted to know the name of everything he saw. What trees were these? What birds, what fish? To name was the first step to possession in Mordecai's eyes, and he wanted to own this world. He, his brothers and sisters deserved to have dominion over Faerun and anything—or anyone—in it.

The cleric closed his eyes, absorbing the roar of the rushing water, the caress of the cool breeze, the perfume of the wildflowers. He breathed the essence of the Night Above into his very soul, and it calmed him.

Given the elf's keen hearing, he easily noticed the approaching steps of one of his companions. Mordecai opened his eyes and turned to watch Vren as he joined him by the water.

The Secondboy knelt on the rocks beside Mordecai and sneered at him. "Why are you so fascinated by the surface? Why enjoy the painful light?"

"Why do you enjoy being your mother's favorite pet spider of the month?" the cleric replied snidely. Vren had his silver hair in a particularly elaborate coif today: a plaited knot on the back of his head with five braids running down his shoulders and back. The sight made Mordecai particularly disgusted—such a vain drow!—and the cleric considered telling Vren that if he spent as much time on his swordsmanship as his hair, he might excel as a fighter.

Vren had merely grinned at the insult. "Is that what you think of me?" His golden eyes glittered with mirth. "You're quite wrong. But I recognize your type: you are too fascinated by the surface for your own good. We are not meant to abide in anything other than the rich darkness of our cavern. Your desire—your obsession, I believe—with the surface will be your undoing. I shall enjoy watching you be sacrificed to Lolth for your impertinence."

The cleric snorted. "And do you believe that when you die the Spider Queen will welcome you, a mere male, into her arms? That your death, your afterlife, will be any better than mine?"

Vren shook his head. "Likely not, although I don't profess to understand the distinction. Why should Lolth despise my soul simply because my physical body was male in life? It is not as though my _soul_ is male. The configuration of my body means nothing about the essence of my spirit."

Mordecai stared at Vren, stunned by what amounted to the wisest thing he'd ever heard the Secondboy say. The cleric couldn't agree more, but he was unwilling to say so. "Would your statement not qualify as blasphemy? Could you not be sacrificed for so questioning the order of our world?"

Vren merely laughed. "Not any quicker than your grasping for power will get you killed. I agreed to your plan to secure the _Kagaor ki Tamal_ because I see no reason why any one sex deserves more power than the other. Why should we not use the mirror for our own benefit?"

"So our grasping for power gets us both sacrificed to Lolth?" he quipped, pointing out the error in Vren's logic.

"If I believed we would fail, I wouldn't have agreed," Vren answered easily. "Besides, it is in our best interests to make sure we don't become easily discarded."

Mordecai kept his smile to himself. Vren might be somewhat philosophical concerning the topic of gender, but he was not particularly intelligent, which was unfortunate. Given Vren's personal views of the world, he could have made a strong ally, but Mordecai believed Vren's so-called courage would quickly dissipate by the first real challenge they met. "Indeed," the cleric agreed. "Shall we resume our mission, then?" Mordecai stood and the Secondboy along with him.

"If your calculations are correct, we can't be more than a day away from the ruins," Vren noted.

"You mean more than a day away from our ascension in power," the cleric replied. _And so much more, poor fool,_ he mused to himself.

Webs within webs. Plots within plots.

* * *

Entreri sighed. Of all the tasks he'd ever been assigned, his current one seemed the most ridiculous to him. And redundant. The assassin glanced over his shoulder to the reasonably large stream and saw that both Jarlaxle and Tai had climbed in to bathe—and that Tai had managed to put twelve feet of distance between the drow and himself. 

"Guarding bathers," the assassin snorted, irritated and more than willing to internally aim the irritation at the person he deemed responsible for the situation—Mordecai.

His fellow guard, Nyx, chuckled. "Well, it would be a perfect time to attack us."

Entreri looked at the woman and shook his head. "There is some logic to that, but I can't say I'm enjoying guarding people while they bathe."

Nyx chuckled again, and the assassin wondered if she were thinking of the way Tai insisted that no one other than himself guard her—almost as though he were protecting her from Jarlaxle and Entreri's prying eyes. As if the assassin had any desire to peek!

"There are worse tasks," the monk commented.

Entreri considered the mindless chore of herding goblin slaves in the Underdark and was forced to agree.

The monk and the assassin stood together silently, both of them facing each other at an angle that afforded them a 360 degree view of the trees and the stream without having to look directly at the bathers. The dying sunlight barely pierced the growing shadows between the trees, but the area around the stream itself was well-lit and wide-open. Entreri would have to watch closely to make sure no drow—or monsters—sneaked up on them, especially since the chatter of wildlife in the forest was building. The lower the sun sank in the sky, the louder the chorus of insects and birds, which seemed to battle for dominance from their hidden spots in the trees or grass.

Minutes passed without any conversation, but then the monk, while not seeming to divert her attention from her duty, began to speak.

"I'm worried about Tai," she said in a soft voice, apparently having noted the way the priest stayed so far away from Jarlaxle. "But I believe he'll pull through."

"He has deep inner conviction, but he broods too much," Entreri replied, keeping his voice low, also.

"Tai is stronger than he likely realizes," Nyx said. "Not only does he demonstrate unusual wisdom, he has the strength of seeing the larger picture in life and working toward it. Granted, he does think too much sometimes, but it normally leads him to greater insights."

"He's just brooding."

Nyx shrugged. "Perhaps, if he's not careful. But overall it's a strength, and I admire him for it. Actually, there are many things I admire about him. His enthusiasm is one, and his ability to see the best qualities in others is another. He has the charming ability of encouraging everyone around him to reach their full potential; he never considers that they can't or wouldn't want to!" She smiled. "That makes him seem very naïve and puts him in danger at times. But I'd rather stay by his side and protect him during those moments than to see him change."

Entreri paused to think through Nyx's words, and her observations seemed accurate. The boy did seem to have a way of seeing the best qualities in a person and even encouraging those qualities—or, at least, he _had_. To Entreri, Nyx's desire to protect Tai from the unwanted change seemed a bit naïve on _her_ part, although the type and extent of the boy's changes were yet to be seen. Still . . . "Why bother?"

Nyx snorted. "Why not? First of all, both physically and emotionally, Tai is perfectly capable of defending himself—except in this one area. Secondly, would the world not be a darker place without Tai in it? Would the world not be darker if Tai lost the charm that makes him himself?"

Entreri shrugged. _Who cares if the world is darker? One person doesn't make a difference._ "The world will not note his passing one way or another."

"I would," Nyx said quietly, and with a great deal more patience than the assassin expected of her. "My world would be darker. At the very least, should I not fight for my world?"

Entreri's first impulse was to say _Why should anyone care that your world would be darker_, but he didn't follow the impulse and remained quiet for several moments. "If you don't fight for it, no one else will."

"Exactly." The monk grinned.

Silence reigned for several minutes, and the assassin could hear splashing behind him. He glanced over his shoulder briefly to verify that all was in order and turned back around when he determined Jarlaxle was nearing the completion of his bath. By this point, the sun had dipped low enough that only a crimson glow remained in the sky, and the moon, which was doused pink by the dying sunset, had already risen high above the tree tops. Entreri considered telling Jarlaxle and Tai to hurry up but ultimately didn't waste the effort.

Nyx seemed to have grown somber. "Unfortunately," she said at length, "I failed to protect Tai when it mattered most." Distress leaked into her tone.

The assassin really didn't care if Nyx were feeling upset, so he only listened with half his attention.

"I should have found Tai sooner that night; if I had, he wouldn't have been raped." A pained expression crossed Nyx's face as she spoke, and she looked away. "What makes my failure even worse is the fact I've adopted Tai as my younger brother and committed myself to watching his back."

The monk looked at the assassin with suspicion. "I know you could care less," she quickly added, her eyes half-hooded. "And I hardly care whether you feel I am innocent or guilty of anything."

Entreri smirked, for he had indeed started to say something sarcastic.

Nyx sighed and continued. "But I'm telling you this because in the face of my failure, you have an opportunity: you can reach Tai when I can't. You're the only one he's really letting near him." She frowned at the man. "If you could just be the silent support at his side, that would mean a great deal. Tai _is_ strong, but no one, regardless of their age, could suffer that level of violence and not need a moment to regroup."

Entreri watched the monk. His feelings about her words and request were conflicted. On one hand, he wanted to blow off her words and call her a fool. However, the assassin's empty life seemed to stare him in the face, right down into the darkest hole in his soul. He had yet to figure out what he truly wanted from life, but he did know he took no joy from his life as it was. At least one fact remained, though: loyalty and honor in the underworld were touch-and-go, just like truth; Entreri gave respect to few, and loyalty to fewer. But in a family . . .

"If you truly feel that Tai is your brother, then your feelings of loyalty are commendable," Entreri said begrudgingly. "As for helping Tai, to be frank there are very practical reasons for me to help him, and I have been."

"How fortunate," Nyx said, and surprisingly, she didn't seem offended.

Entreri scoffed.

But Nyx merely appeared oddly amused, which further surprised him. "Tai believes in you. I hope you believe in him."

Nyx turned away then, and Entreri frowned. The comment seemed completely random. What game was this? And what did she mean by "believing" in someone?

"You're a very intelligent and insightful man," the monk ventured, still not looking at him.

Entreri's frown deepened into a scowl as he quickly worked through their entire conversation, trying to determine her ploy. She was trying to get him to help Tai, of course, but—

She looked back at him with a small smile. "If the emptiness I see in your dark grey eyes doesn't swallow you, you'd make an excellent older brother to Tai."

The assassin sneered at her, but all the unpleasant introspection he'd allowed himself during his and Jarlaxle's pursuit of Socor hit him square in the chest: _The only life worth saving is your own. An empty life._

"Besides," Nyx continued, "regardless of your motivation, if you want something done right, you have to do it yourself."

Seeing her ploy, the assassin narrowed his eyes at her, but he couldn't really argue her final point. Strangely, Entreri found her more logical than he had first assumed he would. Admitting that to himself, Entreri took a closer look at Nyx, bothering for the first time to really note her as a person. Her brown eyes seemed almost black in the growing darkness, but even from this angle, the assassin could still see a hint of mischief in them. Her entire posture radiated confidence and strength, something the assassin could respect. In fact, she was fairly striking.

The assassin blinked, startled at the angle his thoughts had taken. Entreri tended to think of people in oversimplified binaries—for example, threat/nonthreat—until such time that they entered directly into the complexity of a current game. But one binary he rarely invoked was male/female, for he found it unhelpful for at least two major reasons: firstly, he'd seen enough to know that not all humans neatly fit into that supposed binary, and secondly, in the underworld one's sex did not have any bearing in how easily one could kill. Therefore, Entreri maintained two more helpful binaries: fighter/nonfighter and threat/nonthreat. Nyx, as a Holy Javelin of a god of justice, fell into the category of "fighter," and as an ally, she tentatively fell into the category of "nonthreat." But now, as Entreri took a good look at her, he registered the fact that she was female. Or at least she appeared to be, considering she had feminine features.

Nyx glanced back at Entreri, and she arched her eyebrow, apparently finding an odd expression on his face.

The assassin smirked before she could say anything sarcastic and mentally slapped away the unusual and unwelcome thoughts.

Nyx snorted but refrained from comment, and then the two fell into a companionable silence as they continued to stand guard. Entreri had to admit that Nyx's presence was much more tolerable than he would have predicted when he first met her. Nyx didn't annoy him, Tai didn't annoy him . . . and Jarlaxle tried to annoy him on purpose, but his attempts were both entertaining and rarely genuinely successful.

_How odd,_ the assassin thought. _I'm actually surrounded by people who don't annoy me for a change._

And such was the passing thought in the mind of Artemis Entreri the evening before everything changed.

* * *

A doe paused amongst the trees and perked her ears. Growing utterly still, she seemed to stare at the intruder who sat, legs crossed, on a small boulder. Jarlaxle, perfectly adapted to seeing in darkness much more complete than that of the forest at night, easily spotted the deer and studied her in return. After a moment's staring contest, the doe sprinted away. 

Deprived of his observation of the local wildlife, the drow watched the moonlight reflect off his silver walking cane and then turned one corner of his mind away from his upcoming meeting and began, once again, to formulate plans for permanent residence on the surface. Many scenarios had been cycling through his mind, and many decisions remained to be made: what kind of market, what kind of organization, what kind of empire . . . and how? Would there truly be no connection to Bregan D'aerthe and Menzoberranzan? Or . . .

For a moment, a vision of the future consumed Jarlaxle's mind—a surface organization that spanned at least half of Faerun. A sprawling empire—secret, hidden, and indispensable. In a sense, it was a vision of the expansion he'd once attempted for Bregan D'aerthe. But this vision had more cities and potentially no drow, for the members of his mercenary band had been unable to either stomach or comprehend permanent or even extended residence on the surface. After all, it couldn't be denied that he was already building a new band of sorts among his human companions.

A blue screen appeared just to Jarlaxle's right, piercing the darkness. A sudden flapping of wings accompanied the intruding brightness as birds exited the surrounding trees, but the forest quickly grew still once again. A handsome, well-dressed drow stepped through the dimensional door into the night.

Kimmuriel Oblodra bowed to Jarlaxle. "Greetings," he said in drow.

"Well met, _abbil_," Jarlaxle replied from his seat on the boulder. "Now let us be quick; I do not wish to further increase my cohorts' suspicions by being away too long."

Kimmuriel raised one finely-sculpted white eyebrow at this, and Jarlaxle knew the psionicist would never understand his tolerance, much less his even appreciation, of his human companions or their world.

"As you wish," Kimmuriel said. "As you suspected, Mordecai is indeed still in alliance with his former house, Tuin'Tarl. Apparently Matron Prid'eesoth learned of the _Kagaor ki Tamal_ and its approximate location through one of the House's trading connections. Crafty as she is, she's been plotting this for some time."

"But of course," Jarlaxle murmured.

"Her objective will come as no surprise." A wry smile graced Kimmuriel's lips at this pronouncement.

Jarlaxle sighed. "How truly tedious! Being the ninth house, they wish to increase their rank, thereby winning a seat on the council."

Kimmuriel gave a short bow in acknowledgement of Jarlaxle's logic. "Precisely."

Jarlaxle could not even begin to count the ways he was bored with and tired of the endless, predictable plotting and slaughtering of Menzoberranzan. "So why this particular magical artifact?"

Kimmuriel shrugged. "We are still gathering facts. There seems to be mixed information on the mirror's properties, with some sources indicating the mirror is divine, others that it is enchanted, and still others that it is psionic." The drow looked quite intrigued by the final possibility. "The only consensus we have so far is that all the sources have indicated that the artifact makes its wielder obscenely powerful. If Matron Prid'eesoth gains possession of the _Kagaor ki Tamal_, we can be certain major upheaval will follow."

Jarlaxle and Kimmuriel shared a smile, then, for upheaval generally meant profit for Bregan D'aerthe. Secretly, though, Jarlaxle was more concerned about what this meant for him and his companions.

"And what further knowledge have you gained about Mordecai?" Jarlaxle asked, for he had requested all available knowledge about the ex-weapons' master they had acquired from House Tuin'Tarl—a weapons' master that Tuin'Tarl themselves had stolen from among the commoners, Jarlaxle was aware.

"Very little," Kimmuriel admitted. "He came from a common family of merchants. His only distinction seems to be his slightly above average fighting skills. His entire life prior to his acquisition by House Tuin'Tarl seems to have been consumed with studies and training. As for Mordecai's current circumstances, recent information suggests he is now accompanied by four Tuin'Tarl soliders in his quest to find the _Kagaor ki Tamal_ for his Matron Mother; one of those four soldiers is apparently the Secondboy, Vren."

Jarlaxle nodded, unsurprised. "And is Mordecai one of that rare species—a priest of Lolth?"

The handsome drow shook his head. "There is no indication that he was even considered for such a vocation."

Jarlaxle narrowed his eyes briefly, then smiled. "Well! This should prove quite fascinating." He considered the psionicist for several moments. "Have any further attempts been made on your life since we last spoke?"

"None." Kimmuriel's grin was wry. "It would seem that House Tuin'Tarl has, at this point, given up on placing one of their operatives on the throne of Bregan D'aerthe."

Jarlaxle snorted. "Mordecai could have never held our organization together." _But you are apparently doing even better than I imagined,_ the elf mused. _Another interesting factor for me to add to my calculations concerning permanent residence on the surface._ The elf stood from his seat on the boulder and gave his cane an experimental twirl. "Very good. And other news of interest?"

Kimmuriel shook his head once again. "Nothing beyond what I reported last time."

Jarlaxle feigned a weary sigh. "All the centuries pass much the same. When will any true excitement visit our dark hole?" He flung one hand out in a dramatic gesture.

Kimmuriel smiled at Jarlaxle's antics, both of them innocent of the knowledge of Lolth's impending "disappearance" not too terribly far in the future.

And both of them equally unaware of a much more imminent chaos.

* * *

_A/N: I am aware that during the_ War of the Spider Queen _series, there was some shifting of houses and ranks, but just keep in mind that my story is set prior to the events in WotSQ. However, the reference to Lolth's impending disappearance is a reference to those events. ;) Not that it much matters, I guess, considering I did make this series technically AU. Oh, well. I'm trying to stick as close to canon as I can, given the circumstances. _

Sorry for the long delay between updates. I've been insanely busy. This will likely be the hardest and busiest semester of my life, so I apologize in advance for the fact that updates will come very slowly. I also apologize to my fellow fanfic writers because I'll be slow in reviewing, too. I'll make it, though! I promise!

Thank you to all who read and review:D


	6. Chapter 6

"_I have already been to the nine hells. Hardly worth a return visit."—Jarlaxle _

**Chapter Six**

Midnight had arrived, marking the fourth day of travel for Tai and his group—fourth and last, for Nyx had estimated that they should arrive at the ruins by the following midday. The question was, of course, would they reach the _Kagaor ki Tamal_ before Mordecai? Tai had been praying hard about this concern.

And now, with the midnight hour, time had come for Tai to commune with Hoar again. Around him, the encampment was silent. Jarlaxle had returned a half hour earlier from an unspecified errand, for which he'd broken their buddy-system in order to have privacy. Since Entreri seemed unbothered by this event, Tai had tried to follow suit, especially when the assassin indicated that the drow was gathering useful information.

Now Jarlaxle leaned against a tree and stared into their small campfire; the elf had first watch. Nyx and Entreri had left a few minutes earlier for a precautionary scout of the surrounding forest, and Tai expected them to return shortly after he finished communing. But for now, Tai was alone with Jarlaxle, something that made him uncomfortable, and he had to rely upon Jarlaxle's protection while he communed with Hoar—a situation that made him distinctly unhappy.

Still, the wilderness surrounding Tai seemed to reach out and soothe him. The musky scent of pine needles permeated the air and mixed with the smoke of the campfire, creating an oddly relaxing smell. The murmur of the nearby stream made a calming background song for chirping crickets and croaking frogs, and beams of silvery moonlight joined the orange blaze of the fire, lighting the small clearing with a comforting glow.

After a few moments' meditation of nature, Tai closed his eyes and prepared to commune with his god. Since Hoar had so blatantly protected him from the drow assassin a few days earlier, Tai found it easier to commune despite his lingering questions. But faith, Tai realized, was not a matter of logic or evidence; it was a matter of the heart, in a realm the brain could not touch—much like trust and love. Therefore, Tai needed to shore up his faith, a task that only Hoar could truly help him with. And as Nyx had reminded him, Hoar hadn't changed; only Tai's viewpoint had changed. However, Hoar would help Tai banish his doubts.

Eyes closed and legs crossed, Tai rested his hands on his knees and cleared his mind. He proceeded through the breathing and meditation rituals more easily tonight, inhaling deeply, filling his chest with breath, and seeking the essence of Hoar which abided in his heart.

The connection came quickly, causing Hoar's divine power to burn in Tai's veins, a racing warmth that reached out to leave a tingling sensation on his scalp and in his toes and fingers. As a strong sense of order and conviction filled him, Tai felt muscles relax that he didn't even realize were still tensed.

Hoar was pleased this night; Tai had the distinct impression that somewhere in the world a rather exceptionally poetic and well-deserved case of vengeance had been served. Or perhaps several.

_Praise be to Hoar for the justice served today,_ Tai prayed, and the priest could feel Hoar's responding respect—a fact that greatly comforted the young man.

_I ask forgiveness for doubting you and for not keeping my focus on my holy mission,_ Tai continued, _And I pray for the opportunity to administer vengeance in the coming day, as well as for your guidance and assistance in doing so._ At this point, Tai began praying for the divine spells he might need the following day, starting with the power to heal. Even though he knew Jarlaxle carried a healing device, Tai was always concerned with his ability to heal. The image of Entreri, Nyx, or Jarlaxle bleeding to death and his failing to heal them was a nightmarish vision. The fear was one he felt about complete strangers—what a horror to watch someone die when he was blessed with the power of his god!—but the fear was intensified when it concerned his friends . . . and despite his misgivings about Jarlaxle, Tai hadn't entirely given up on the drow. When he'd first come to know Jarlaxle, Tai had sensed something worthwhile in drow, beneath his dangerous mercenary exterior and lust for profit. He had sensed a free-spirited soul, not one bent on destruction. It was a fact Tai now found he had to remind himself of often.

Once he had finished praying for divine spells, Tai listened closely to his feelings, focusing intently on the spiritual thread connecting him to Hoar. It was now time to see if his god wanted him to attend to any certain task or had any message for him. The impressions or images Tai received were usually faint or vague, but they were enough for him to act upon. As Tai listened, he remembered the first time he'd mentioned to his uncle that Hoar imparted such things to him. His uncle, a veteran priest of Hoar by the name of Kassur Vatoshie, had grown nearly white in the face, his jaw falling slightly open.

"Hoar has imparted images or impressions to you?" his uncle had asked. When Tai had nodded the affirmative, the older man had stuttered in his shock. "T-that's incredible! It-it's no minor feat to establish such a connection! Much more training and experience than you possess is normally required. Hoar must greatly favor you, my dear Tai."

Tai felt a sigh escape him at the memory, although his concentration remained unbroken. It would reassure him greatly to believe such a thing were true, given recent events. Then again, why should he doubt it? His Uncle Kaasur was a wise man and rarely wrong.

_I truly believe you are the Chosen of Hoar,_ Nyx's words echoed in Tai's mind. The Chosen . . .?

Tai's thoughts grew quite still as he realized that these memories might be directed by Hoar. If such were the case, then Hoar was telling Tai that he had indeed singled out the young priest for a special role or mission. But if that were true . . .

_What then of Mordecai? And the rape?_ Tai wondered. _Why—_

And then the priest felt it—felt it was clearly as though Hoar had descended to the Material Plane and communicated with him in person: rage! Hoar was furious on Tai's behalf, empathized with Tai's need for justice, and was even angry that one of his followers had been subjected to such a crime.

_Vengeance will be Hoar's,_ Tai thought. Believed. Knew.

Tai felt an unacknowledged knot in his stomach release as one more question fell away. Hoar was indeed at his side, would be at his side as Tai faced his remaining humiliation and fears. With the strength of his god empowering him, Tai felt his confidence returning.

Tai thanked his god profoundly then opened his eyes, ending the communing. The priest's gaze landed upon Jarlaxle, who still sat by the fire, seeming lost in thought. Tai had been bothered by his suspicions concerning the drow, but he had yet to work up the courage to confront him. However, Tai decided it was time to face Jarlaxle, to address the issue of the elf's actions on that painful night, to deal with the distrust Tai now felt toward the mercenary.

Tai stood, and the movement caught Jarlaxle's attention. Squaring his shoulders, the priest stepped toward the drow, determined to resolve the problem.

* * *

Nyx had to concentrate hard to both engage in reconnaissance and keep up with Entreri since the man seemed to literally melt in and out of the deeper shadows of the forest. She could see one reason the assassin had built such a successful career. 

As the pair weaved through the trees, Nyx reflected on their earlier conversation—an interesting discussion to have while one guarded bathers. Entreri's coldness, practicality, and selfishness were evident, but so was his interest in Tai. The monk honestly didn't understand why Entreri fascinated Tai or why the assassin seemed to return a tiny share of that attention, but she couldn't deny that the two were drawn to each other. Her best guess was that Tai wanted to convert Entreri to the ways of Hoar and that Entreri saw in Tai either a reflection of his younger self or an image of who he could have been at Tai's age. However, Nyx ultimately didn't care _why_ they were friends; she only cared that a bond that was slowly growing between the two.

Anything to help Tai . . . although Nyx hadn't yet figured out what the assassin could offer Tai, exactly, given that by all appearances, he was a cold-blooded killer.

_Tai is truly amazing,_ Nyx thought, forever awed by the priest's ability to see the best in people. _Makes me wish I hadn't developed such a cynical streak. But cynicism aside, it's still amazing that Tai would attempt friendship with such a dangerous man._ She shook her head. _Only Tai . . . _

Entreri halted and knelt, examining animal tracks in the mud. Nyx drew up beside him and watched him. His hair was bound into a tight ponytail as usual, and without the bolero's visual block, Nyx could clearly see his aristocratic features in the moonlight. Before embarking on their trip, the assassin had shaved off his goatee, and the net effect of his dark hair, high cheekbones, and strong jaw was . . . oddly disconcerting. Especially given that strange glance Entreri had given her earlier, almost as though he were taking her measure or—

_What am I thinking?_ she demanded of herself, surprised by her thoughts.

Eyes which looked black in the darkness met her gaze and held it. "The paw prints suggest dire wolves; we must be on guard."

The monk nodded, and Entreri rose and started forward again with his graceful stride. Nyx sighed as she followed. _I am a fool to even bother noting the attractiveness of such a treacherous man._

What was that saying her grandmother had always repeated about women and dangerous men? Nyx allowed a snort to escape. No, she wasn't drawn to danger. She was drawn to . . .

_Wisdom, like Tai's if he were older,_ she thought, _and strength, like Entreri's if he weren't an assassin._

Nyx tried to dismiss the thoughts and focus on the scent of jasmine, the feel of the nighttime breeze, the sound of croaking frogs. Monks were trained to live in isolation, carrying out their duties alone. Friends or partners were rare, although her monastery had preached loyalty to possible companions. Following tradition, Nyx had set out by herself to administer vengeance, but she ultimately found herself drawn to people, drawn to the desire to guard others against peril, to ensure others' safety and security. In the end, she found herself better able to deal with her own pain than others'; she couldn't stand to see Tai suffer.

The monk stopped abruptly as she realized she was going to collide with something. Collide with . . . Entreri's back.

"Quit staring off into the night," the assassin snapped. "Your inattention is suicidal, for you may believe I will not come to your aid should your daydreaming get you attacked."

Nyx clenched her fists, instantly irritated, but then found herself grinning for some reason she couldn't discern. "I wasn't daydreaming," she quipped, "I was contemplating your fine shoulders." Her smile turned positively evil.

A small snort announced Entreri's response. "A foolish lie from a foolish woman."

"Your shoulders are not fine?" the monk asked, feigning misinterpretation.

The assassin glanced over his shoulder. "You've spent too much time around Jarlaxle." He began walking once more, and Nyx double-stepped to catch up with him.

"There's no need to be insulting," she replied, still grinning.

Entreri didn't smile, but somehow his features seemed to relax, almost as though he'd suppressed a smile. "Is there not?"

Nyx let the comment slide, and the two walked side-by-side in silence for several minutes. The camp's perimeter was secure, so the two could return and rest.

"We should reach the ruins tomorrow," Nyx said, attempting conversation with the untalkative male.

"Yes."

"It is likely Mordecai will reach the ruins around the same time."

"And I will kill him."

The monk's lips quirked at the short answers; the man was difficult. "No doubt, although perhaps we should allow Tai to kill him for vengeance."

"I assume you mean holy vengeance and not ordinary, wrathful vengeance." The assassin's tone implied near-sarcasm.

"But of course."

"Zealot."

"Thank you."

"If you think that way—and I know you do—then why have you not taken vengeance upon Jarlaxle? Or, rather, I should say _tried_." A touch of mockery colored Entreri's voice.

Nyx, long used to being maligned for her faith, was unfazed by the mockery, but she couldn't understand the assassin's reference. "What do you mean, vengeance upon Jarlaxle? What has he done that I should rain my—" she smiled in spite of herself, "—ah, Holy Wrath of Hoar upon him?"

Not a single muscle in Entreri's face twitched; the man didn't miss a beat. "He is drow. Is your answer not self-evident?"

But Nyx was no child and no stranger to deception. She stopped in her tracks, ready to challenge the man, although she strongly suspected she would lose the battle. "Don't bother. I know that's not what you meant. Tell me what Jarlaxle did that I should be so worried about."

Entreri halted three feet in front of the monk and didn't turn to face her. The implication of that was not lost on Nyx. "You cannot be serious," he said, although his intonation was flat, not surprised as the words would normally imply. "Surely Tai has not so withheld information from you, his friend."

A cold burn socked Nyx in the chest, just as though someone had punched through her ribs and crammed ice into her lungs. The sudden fear and hurt were so intense she missed a breath. "Tai . . . hasn't told me . . . what?"

The assassin still did not turn around, leaving Nyx to stare at his cloaked back. "I know you've noticed that Tai is leery of Jarlaxle now."

Nyx could feel a pounding in her temple, could somehow hear her pulse in her ears; the strength of her emotions nearly rendered her deaf. "I—yes."

"Jarlaxle separated from Tai during their reconnaissance on that night, and Tai is angry at him for leaving him alone, considering what happened."

Nyx felt her throat constrict, and her next words were a choked whisper. "He . . . _what?_"

"Will you attempt to kill Jarlaxle now?" the assassin said, his disdain evident. "Will you allow your temper to overcome you? I wonder that you've managed to survive so long with such undisciplined emotions."

Since Entreri wouldn't turn to face her, Nyx stalked around him and stood before him, staring into his face. "The fact my temper is problematic is not lost on me. You needn't condescend. But my anger is irrelevant to the issue at hand." _And so is my pain over the fact Tai did not tell me this._ "I only need to know one thing. Did Jarlaxle know Mordecai would rape Tai?" The monk shook her head. "I mean—did Jarlaxle leave Tai unguarded, knowing that there were drow, and that the drow would—"

"Jarlaxle had no idea such a thing would happen, of course," Entreri stated unequivocally; his hard stare matched his conviction. "Jarlaxle may be drow, but he would not—"

And suddenly, the confident assassin was without words, a situation Nyx suspected was rare, if not unheard of. It told her much: much about the assassin, his friendship with Jarlaxle, and his willingness to contemplate the concept of friendship. It also answered her question.

"Will you try to kill Jarlaxle now?" Entreri asked again. "Or will you control yourself and recognize that it's the boy's decision?"

Nyx turned away from the assassin then and walked toward their camp. "It's Tai's decision," she said, her voice flat. _And it's likely my temper that kept Tai from telling me of this in the first place. He likely thought I'd 'relieve' him of the decision in my anger._

With that thought, Nyx found new determination to control her temper. The realization was humbling, indeed.

* * *

Tai walked to Jarlaxle's side and stared down at the mercenary, who glanced up at him as well. The firelight lit Jarlaxle's ebony face, and the accompanying warmth of the flames eased the night's coolness. In the silence between him and the drow, Tai could easily hear the leaves rustling in the wind and even the occasional limb creaking as an animal jumped from tree to tree. 

Tai supposed he should be afraid of confronting Jarlaxle; he was, after all, both a drow and a mercenary. Clever. Dangerous. More evil and more dangerous than the priest—who was beginning to understand the depth of his naivety—had initially given him credit for. How foolish Tai felt, then, for his optimism and faith, and the dissolution of his positive attitude left a bitter taste on his tongue—a cold, metallic taste, as if someone had shoved a dagger in his mouth.

"How much have you laughed at me?" the priest asked softly, not caring if he made sense at first. The mercenary would quickly ascertain the motivation and meaning of his question. "Often? I would even say you were justified in thinking me a fool and invite you to laugh at me, but if you did, I'd tell you to go to the hells." A note of anger crept into Tai's voice.

Jarlaxle remained seated, which to Tai indicated that the drow considered him insignificant. Still, some emotion the priest couldn't identify crossed Jarlaxle's face briefly. "That would be unnecessary, I assure you," the elf replied. "I am well-acquainted with the pain of the nine hells." A wry smile turned up the corners of his lips. "Or, in my case, I should say the abyss."

Tai's brow furrowed at the odd answer, but before he could speak, Jarlaxle continued.

"Do you hate me, or do you hate yourself?" the drow asked.

Tai's renewed confidence was not shaken, but his patience evaporated. "Both of us, of course!" he snapped, unwilling to lie even now. "And why shouldn't I hate you? You _left_ me—either suspecting or knowing what kind of danger I was in—you _left_ me, your ally and companion! And as a result, Mordecai took out his rage upon me!" Tai clenched his fists at his side. "Not that you really understand the concept of loyalty or companionship. Don't think I haven't figured out what you are."

Jarlaxle seemed to remain calm and unfazed. "Mordecai was—is—the seeker of the _Kagaor ki Tamal_; you and Nyx were and are on a holy mission to stop the seeker of the mirror from attaining it. Whether Entreri and I had become involved in this business or not, you and your friend were destined to cross paths with Mordecai, and being drow, Mordecai would have either flippantly killed you—since humans are cattle—or maybe taken pleasure in torturing you and then killing you. I may have been wrong to leave your side that night, but I'm sad to say that you would have ended up Mordecai's victim either way."

Tai, struck by the truth of Jarlaxle's logic, was taken aback, but only for a moment. "That may be true, but you _were_ with me. You were involved, and if you'd stayed by my side, Mordecai would not have succeeded in assaulting me."

Jarlaxle stood then, and the priest—although he understood that he could in no way hold his ground against the drow—mentally prepared himself for an attack. The mercenary, however, made no move against him; in fact, if anything he seemed sad.

"In other words," the drow said now that he faced Tai, "you believe that because I had the power to defend you, I had the responsibility to defend you."

The words were not said sarcastically, or even with any particular inflection at all, so the priest wasn't sure what to make of the comment. "That is generally the way it works between allies or companions: they protect each other. We have different skills, but we each have our role to play. And in the greater scope of life, someone would step in and stop the . . . the rape of another person, even if that person were a complete stranger. Not that I expect you to understand that."

"You are over-generalizing because I am drow," Jarlaxle said, no doubt harkening back to a conversation he'd witnessed between Tai and Entreri many months ago.

"Maybe I am right to," Tai replied, irritated. "And your behavior and actions give me no reason not to."

"So I am guilty until I am proven innocent?" Jarlaxle asked with a small smile.

"You were innocent," the priest said quietly. "Being the fool that I am, I gave you the benefit of the doubt from the first moment I met you. I allowed you to show me who you really were without assuming you were like what few rumors I'd heard about drow. I allowed you to show me, and you did."

Jarlaxle nodded once; it had the air of finality. "As your ally, I do have the responsibility to protect you. Unlike our mutual friend, Entreri, I understand the meaning of teamwork and interdependence, and I know that the building of teams or organizations requires responsibility to others." The elf sighed. "I am sorry that Mordecai raped you; it was certainly something I would never wish upon you. And by all the gods, I definitely did not plan for it to happen to you or foresee that it would happen."

For a minute, Tai said nothing; he hadn't expected Jarlaxle to apologize to him or agree with any part of what he was saying. The priest closed his eyes briefly and reached deep inside himself, touching the spiritual thread between him and Hoar, who wordlessly reassured him. Tai opened his eyes and met the drow's gaze. He could not gauge by Jarlaxle's words alone the truth of his attitude; only time and the elf's treatment of others would reveal if he spoke truly. The only question was, given all that had happened, would Tai allow him the chance to prove his words true or false?

"I learned long ago," the priest said, "that wallowing in bitterness and rage only poisons one's soul. I determined that healing is a necessity of life, and I have not given up that belief just because the wound cuts deeper this time. This means that I forgive you, but it doesn't mean that I trust you again. Trust, like loyalty, is earned. If you truly believe that team members or allies have a responsibility to each other, then you will understand why this is so."

"Everyone you meet should have to earn your trust and loyalty," the mercenary said. "Never give anyone the benefit of the doubt; you'll live longer that way."

Tai snorted. "So I've learned." He paused. "You sound much like Entreri by saying that, though."

Jarlaxle smiled. "Of course. We have both survived in dangerous worlds for a long time." He tilted his head, growing serious once again. "In fact, Entreri and I understand you better than you think—especially Entreri. He understands you much better than you realize or than he can admit."

Tai frowned. "Understands me better?" It seemed an odd thing to say, and yet the priest could not deny that Entreri seemed to have an instinctual knowledge of when to speak, when not to, and what to say when speaking. "Why? Or how?" A thought Tai had pondered two days earlier returned, leaving the priest stunned. "You don't mean to say—you can't be saying that—that Entreri was raped by a drow?"

"No. Not at all." The drow shook his head. "The source of his anger is a bit closer to home."

Tai shook his head at the elf's irritatingly cryptic words and started walking away. _Understand me better? How, indeed?_ The priest sighed. _If Entreri hasn't been raped by a drow, then . . ._

_"Closer to home."_ Tai halted abruptly, his mind suddenly full of endless, seemingly unrelated comments Entreri had either said in front of him or said to him. Tai felt his eyes widen, felt his breathing catch, felt his mind try to deny the onslaught, but failed:

_"The nightmares will stop." _

"Mordecai will pay for what he has done. He will die for it."

"This is the way the world is. Brutal, violent, and unfair."

"My father was a priest of Tyr, and one of the most evil men I've ever met. Why did he escape the justice of his own god?"

"My father was . . . one of the most evil men I've ever met," Tai repeated aloud to himself in a choked whisper, and with the words, the wind seemed to be knocked from his chest.

For a second, Tai couldn't seem to draw breath; it felt as though his lungs might implode. A strange burning sensation raced across his skin, sending shivers down his spine and causing the hair on his arms to stand up. The priest felt his shoulders tense, then suddenly he gasped, inhaling sharply as his breath returned to him. "No," he gasped. "Impossible! His father—" The priest whirled back around, facing Jarlaxle once again. "I am over-analyzing this. It cannot be!"

Jarlaxle frowned, almost as though he'd been surprised with the priest's quick reasoning, but then he turned to gaze into the fire, his non-response more powerful than an answer.

And with that non-answer, Tai's racing mind jumped far ahead. Tai remembered Entreri arguing with the priest Hector Macatos, challenging Hector's concept of morality and justice by referring to his father's evil, and Tai's own resulting assumption that Entreri's father had likely mistreated his son, probably by beating him.

And in his mind, Tai saw once again Entreri's reaction to learning that Mordecai had raped him. The normally stoic assassin had lost his temper and punched the dressing table.

_"You are not some spineless victim,"_ he had said. _" You are a man who has had the strength to survive another's sickness." _

The strength to survive another's sickness.

"Dear gods," Tai whispered, stunned. One of his hands went to his chest then, covering his heart, for he felt the organ might burst with the sudden wave of emotion. _He knows how I feel! He's been sitting by me, listening to me, offering me . . . gruff . . . advice all this time because he knows!_

_I'm . . . truly not alone._

The priest felt tears stinging his eyes. Tears, again. But he felt no shame this time. No, he felt relief and a renewed desire to connect with the man. Connect . . . but how? Tai could barely discuss his own experience; he certainly couldn't imagine Entreri discussing his. Nor did Tai particularly want to have such a discussion. He just wanted . . . it just meant that . . .

Tai felt like his head was spinning.

Quiet descended upon the camp as Tai stared off into the darkness and Jarlaxle gazed at the fire. As the priest attempted to take hold of his emotions, one thought momentarily emerged above the others: Tai now better recognized the anger and bitterness in his friend. The sudden insight caused him to stutter as he tried to voice his revelation. "His rage—his . . . worldview. It's connected . . . He—" The priest shook his head, unable to further organize his mind.

Jarlaxle still had not moved or looked away from the fire. "Do young children choose to become violent?" the elf asked, staring into the flames, his voice soft. "Do they awaken one morning and decide to be assassins?" The drow seemed lost in thought for a moment. "Evil begets evil. Violence begets violence. Manipulation. Creation. Free will. Choice. Destiny, independence, predestination, rebellion."

The priest forced himself to focus on Jarlaxle's words, instinctively realizing that he was witnessing something rare—something, perhaps, that no one else had ever seen from the mercenary.

Jarlaxle sighed, and his gaze seemed to look through the fire into another dimension. "Can a cold-blooded assassin deserve mercy? Evil reigns in a man without a heart. But can evil be redeemed? Should it be? Should it be allowed even the chance to damn itself twice? And if it is redeemed, even to the tiniest degree, should the world be happy?"

Tai remained quiet and allowed Jarlaxle his soliloquy, then he repeated a sentiment he'd expressed to the drow once before. "Injustice is not excusable; everyone will pay—in one way or another—for their crimes. But only at the moment of death does redemption become impossible. A good person cannot deny anyone the chance at redemption. A good person cannot wish a soul into the nine hells."

Jarlaxle looked at Tai. "Can you say that of Mordecai and mean it?"

The priest's eyes narrowed for a moment, but his faith made his answer obvious. "Yes. I must. It is my opinion that Mordecai is evil, and I won't deny that I hate him. But it is not my place to determine the punishment of his eternal soul. As a servant of Hoar, my dedication to justice and retribution might lead me to execute him, but I do not have the right to wish his soul into the nine hells—not unless I wish to embrace evil, in which case I will be no better than Mordecai."

The drow smiled at Tai then, and the priest was struck with the sense that he had not been entirely a fool. That there was indeed more to Jarlaxle than the dangerous mercenary.

"Tebryn Pharn," Jarlaxle said, and he laughed at Tai's look of incomprehension. "It's a name—the name of the drow who began my weapon's training. Ask me about him sometime. It's a sad story, but I think you would appreciate it. I also think it would help you to better understand who and what the drow are."

Tai nodded, realizing that the elf was going to actually work at building a friendship with him. Now was not the time to take Jarlaxle up on his storytelling offer, though. Tai had much to think about. Much to process.

Tai now knew a secret about Artemis Entreri's past. A secret that spoke directly to his own life.

* * *

Dawn, with its punishing light, could only be an hour away. Mordecai and his companions traveled quickly, wanting to reach their destination under night's comforting darkness. Although Mordecai preferred the Night Above, he was well aware that Vren and the soldiers did not, which suited him fine, given that it increased their motivation. For once they'd reached the ruins, the drow would once again be underground—not in their cavernous home, perhaps, but in a buried ancient city which had not seen the dawn or the sunset for countless generations. 

Countless generations, Mordecai mused, pushing aside tree branches which hung low and tried to smack his face. Countless generations of strategy and infiltration, of trickery and assassination, all of it aimed at a single goal. And now . . . Now one young brother would step up onto the stage, out of the shadows, and lay claim to an artifact that could spearhead their struggle, perhaps win their entire secretly-waged war. His suffering at the hands of House Tuin'Tarl, his escapades with Bregan D'aerthe—a plot within a plot of a plot—it would all be worthwhile. It would be _made_ worthwhile by this night's discovery.

With these victorious thoughts buzzing like insects trapped in his skull, Mordecai stepped out of the tree line and walked to the edge of what could only be described as a pit: a section of the forest floor had caved in, revealing one of the forest's many secrets.

"The Ssesartas Ruins," the priest whispered, and he rushed ahead of the others to stand at the pit's edge and take in the sight of his and his brothers' salvation.

The breath rushed from Mordecai's chest as he peered over the edge. Wind buffeted him as he stared down into the hundred-foot-deep pit, and for a moment his head seemed to spin, as though he had slipped off the edge and were falling. The priest inhaled steadily, regaining his equilibrium.

Below him, revealed in the silvery glow of the moonlight, lay the most beautiful sight he'd ever beheld: the partially-exposed ruins of a saurian city. Peeking out between moss, ivy, and uneven humps of recently shifted dirt were the crowns of towers, which were ornamented with carvings. Stone reliefs of snakes, their bodies coiled and tongues flicking, greeted the travelers, and while the reliefs had been worn down by weather and age, not even the press of thousands of years could completely steal the glory of the city. To Mordecai, it was exquisite.

Vren seemed unimpressed. "An ancient city, mostly buried in dirt and vines. Its exterior hardly announces the treasure supposedly contained within."

Mordecai didn't bother responding to Vren's inane comment. Instead, he grinned evilly at the Secondboy. "We arrived first; for all his cunning, the great Jarlaxle did not reach his goal in time."

Vren smirked. "How could he, with those pathetic animals holding him back?"

At the mention of animals, Mordecai glanced over his shoulder at Cat, who was riding in the priest's backpack and had her head stuck out the top so she would sniff and see everything around her. "Indeed. At least when I choose pets, I choose the type that do not slow me down."

With that, the subject dropped, for Mordecai was no more willing than Vren to admit that he had been beaten by said "pets." In the lull in the conversation, the priest pointed to a tower top which jutted from the side of the pit. "Our information suggests that we may access the city if we crawl through that tower's window."

Vren nodded, and Mordecai immediately began his descent, angling his body and feet to slide sideways down the gentle, if deep, slope. However, when Mordecai stepped into the pit, a tangible change swept over the ruins and surrounding forest. All the nighttime chatter suddenly ceased; every bird, cricket, frog, and creaking tree branch stilled. The five drow grew deathly still and silent as well, ever paranoid about an attack. However, no enemy showed its face. Instead, millions of glowing insects steadily rose from the tangle of ivy and uprooted brush in the pit, their tiny green bodies casting an unearthly light upon the ancient ruins.

Once the glowing insects had risen above the pit, they hung above the drow's heads for a minute, casting green light upon ebony faces. Then, as one luminous cloud, they drifted away into the trees. Moments later, the chirping crickets and croaking frogs filled the silence again.

With wide eyes, Vren glanced down at Mordecai. "By the abyss, what were those creatures, and what did their mass exodus mean?" he asked in the quietest of whispers.

Mordecai had been deeply moved by their beauty as well as by the magical aura that had filled the air along with them. He shook his head, unable to find his voice at first. "I'm unsure of their significance," he whispered back, "but I shall name them what I please."

Vren frowned at the odd answer, then shrugged.

Mordecai glanced wistfully after the insects once again, but instead caught a shadowy movement in the trees. An animal? Jarlaxle and his pets? Or . . .?

"Hurry now," Mordecai ordered the others, "and be on guard. I suspect we are being followed." The priest started down the slope once more, eager to reach the _Kagaor ki Tamal_ and claim its promises.

And quickly, lest another steal his prize from him.

* * *

_A/N: As I warned, my writing was slow. This semester is a real pain. Thank you for your patience and your reviews. _

Euphorbic deserves a nod for a suggestion about description that she made while I was in the prewriting stage.


	7. Chapter 7

_A/N: I'm extremely sorry for the delay. Thanks for sticking with me. _

A big thank you goes out (in alphabetical order) to Darkhelmet, Euphorbic, Matt, and Rezuri for beta reading. Also, in regards to this particular chapter, thank you to Silverwolf, who saved my butt in a way that shall remain safely secret between the two of us. wink

I must assert a special thank you to Darkhelmet for chapter 7 because she surpassed the duties of a beta reader in helping me put this together. You can thank her that this was ever finished, given my time constraints. She is the co-author of the chapter, having literally written half of it by penning both of the fight scenes. Or, to put it another way: This chapter is brought to you by the Ariel & Darkhelmet Writing Team (ADWT). LOL

A thank you also goes (again, in alphabetical order) to Darkhelmet, Dr. L, Euphorbic, Matt, Rezuri, and Silverwolf for suggestions, ideas, information, trouble-shooting, and/or fine-tuning ideas.

Thank you to all who read and reviewed this story!

The third story, "The Sacrifice for Salvation," is already underway. I hope to begin posting it near the end of Christmas Break.

* * *

"_I know not yet where I hope to go, what challenges  
are left before me, but I do understand now that  
the important thing is to enjoy the process of getting there."--A.E._

**Chapter Seven**

Artemis Entreri sat, his back to a tree, and watched over the silent camp before him. Dawn had pierced the sky, adding the slightest hint of pink to the darkness and announcing morning. Despite the approaching light, the birds were unnaturally still, almost as though nature felt the impending violence that a few hours would bring. Today they would reach the ruins and face Mordecai, Entreri knew, and the drow would feel the agony of having his soul burnt out of his chest.

In this transitional moment, however, between night and dawn, between quiet and fury, lay nothing more than an assassin's thoughts and the shallow breathing of sleepers. Even Jarlaxle, who sat cross-legged on the ground not five feet from Entreri, was silent. The elf had come out of Reverie a half hour before, but in an uncharacteristic show of either compassion or contemplation, had yet to speak. He simply gazed at the nearly-extinguished campfire, apparently lost in thought.

And in this unusual hush, Artemis Entreri found himself gazing at the sleepers, Nyx and Tai. Nyx, who Entreri seemed to inadvertently distract and who seemed to have realized that she could overstep her rights as a friend. Tai, who was sleeping restlessly and about whom Entreri felt an uncomfortable . . . concern.

_To care,_ Entreri thought with an internal smirk. _What a fool I am to invite such pain. Yet I will not lie to myself and say that I don't care if Tai survives the fight today. Nor will I lie and pretend that it doesn't matter if Jarlaxle dies. I must even admit that I'd prefer it if Nyx survived._ He shook his head. _I did not want this. I did not ask for this. For all my life, I have lived without these feelings, and yet I find myself walking inexplicably forward, unwilling to turn back. But why? Why is this happening—or rather, why am I allowing it to happen?_

Tai shifted violently in his sleep, revealing that he was trapped in a nightmare. Entreri could guess what torture that dreamscape contained. The movement caught Jarlaxle's attention as well, and the two mercenaries traded glances.

_Will you awaken him, or shall I?_ Jarlaxle asked via handcode.

_He will awaken on his own, and shortly,_ Entreri replied.

Before Jarlaxle could respond, Tai jerked awake, bolting upright and looking around the clearing wildly. His black hair was pasted with sweat against his forehead and neck, and the boy's face was red with emotion. Seeming to catch his breath, the priest frowned and stood, shaking off his cloak in a gesture of irritation. He stalked out of the camp without a backward glance.

Entreri stared at the black cloak left on the ground, not willing to even think about the significance of the fact he'd bothered to have such a thing made for Tai.

"Will you follow him?" Jarlaxle whispered.

Entreri glared at the elf, who tried to look quite innocent but failed.

"He needs you," Jarlaxle replied to that Look.

"But I don't need to be needed," Entreri said, standing. Standing and walking. Walking and following Tai's path of departure.

A soft chuckle from a certain drow rang in his ears as he left.

* * *

Once into the cover of the trees, Tai had sprinted a good twenty feet beyond the camp's parameters. Reaching a small clearing, the priest kneeled and wrapped his arms about himself. Even after all the ground he'd gained, all the meditation and communing, all the revelations, he still had such vivid nightmares! Tai unconsciously rocked back and forth for several moments, attempting to calm himself, but his anger still bubbled inside, burning with such intensity he wondered that his skin did not blister. 

"Why?" he spat, growing suddenly still. "Why do these nightmares persist! I thought I had conquered this!"

"I told you once already," a stern voice said from behind him, and the priest was startled yet again. "The nightmares will stop. Just maintain your focus."

Tai closed his eyes and grinned self-depreciatingly. "Entreri?"

The assassin knelt beside him. "What?"

"Would you do me a favor and _make noise_ when you approach me from behind? I'm rather tired of being scared witless every time you sneak up on me like that." The priest gave Entreri a glance that was only half-joking in its irritation. "Besides, my comments really weren't meant to be overhead."

The assassin snorted, apparently amused at the priest's show of temper. "Then don't say them aloud. And no, I won't make noise, but I will teach you to be more aware of your surroundings so that others cannot sneak up on you."

Tai stared at the man. Really looked at him, distracted suddenly by his new knowledge. Entreri seemed the same, looked the same . . . but somehow, he wasn't the same. The assassin's anger and bitterness now had an added dimension that Tai could understand, although he still wished he could somehow ease it. But most of all, more than anything . . . more than anything, Tai now knew he was looking upon a fellow survivor. What spoke to Tai's soul more than their shared suffering was their shared survival.

And the priest knew, then. He knew he could make a complete recovery with time. He knew because of the poised, self-confident, strong man beside him.

Entreri was giving Tai a suspicious look. "Why are you gazing at me so oddly?"

Tai opened his mouth to speak, but no sound came out. How to tell the man? Tai simultaneously wanted to thank Jarlaxle and choke him for revealing such a thing about his friend. Actually, the urge to choke the elf for the violation of privacy and trust was winning out. At the same time, the priest couldn't deny that the knowledge was highly comforting in a strange way. But what to say? How to connect to Entreri?

Tai sighed and looked away, staring into the darkness. His entire heart was reaching for Entreri, asking for understanding, asking for friendship, perhaps even asking for a replacement older brother. "I had a talk with Jarlaxle," the priest began, even though he knew there was no way he could reveal what he'd learned. He didn't want to make Entreri uncomfortable or risk his displaced wrath.

"Yes, I know."

The priest swallowed his surprise and didn't dare look at Entreri.

"Jarlaxle said you confronted him," the assassin continued in Tai's silence. "I sensed potential in you when I first met you." He sounded reluctant to hand out the compliment. "I am gratified, if unsurprised, to see that I was right."

Tai smiled, recognizing a vulnerability within himself. This man's words could strengthen or break him; he'd been awed—both delighted and frightened—by Entreri from the first moment they'd met. He'd proceeded with their partnership out of both naivety and perhaps a touch of arrogance, but also out of trust in Hoar, who had urged him to join forces with Entreri and Jarlaxle. And now . . .

And now he looked up to Entreri. But why? Because of his strength? Or was this affection he felt the result of missing his family? Of specifically missing his deceased eldest brother and his uncle?

. . . and how did Entreri feel, effectively having no family at all? Or, rather, a family who had betrayed him?

Tai finally looked up at Entreri. "I'm glad I met you."

"Glad?" The assassin looked vaguely bewildered and a touch uncomfortable.

The priest nearly laughed, for he realized his safest answer would sound very similar to the attitude a certain drow. "Well, you _are_ a gifted swordsman. Should I not consider myself fortunate to have seen you wield your weapons?"

Entreri snickered. "You're fortunate to have seen it but not be on the receiving end."

Tai did laugh this time, but the smile quickly faded from his face. He stared out into the darkness again. "I'm still so angry," he said, resuming his previous topic without warning. "Why am I so enraged? I'll think the anger has receded, only to realize that it's merely simmering beneath the surface."

"Because it is not so simple," a quiet voice intoned beside him. "Your anger is great, and for good cause. Do not expect to shrug it off so easily."

Tai didn't respond at first. "The anger seems to eat my stomach," the priest finally whispered. "I can almost see the holes burning through my gut as the rage consumes me." _Rage like you must have felt all your life . . . must have, to have lived the kind of life that I've learned you did. Like the way you pursued that drow Drizzt Do'Urden. I felt disillusioned when I first heard that story in Silverymoon, but now . . . _

For several minutes, Entreri didn't speak. In the pause, the sound of creaking branches filled the air, along with the moan of the wind. A cold breeze whipped through the trees, catching a few fallen leaves and whipping them around the kneeling humans. Tai, bereft of his cloak, shivered.

Entreri stared at the priest for a moment, then removed his cloak and draped it across Tai's shoulders.

Tai, too moved to speak by this simplest act of kindness, clutched the cloak, wrapping himself in it, and inhaled the musky scent of pine needles, sweat, and leather. It was oddly comforting, this mixed scent—the smell of a rough man, perhaps, or the smell of a father.

"I know," Entreri finally replied, and the priest believed him. "You must control that anger." The assassin paused. "No—more than simply control it. You must conquer it, one minute at a time if necessary, or it will consume you and rule your life."

Tai recognized the wisdom of the words immediately; in fact, he could have spoken them himself in different circumstances. But knowing something was true and living that truth were not the same. "How?"

Entreri was silent for a long, long time. "By acknowledging the truth and letting go of the lies," he said at last.

"Lies?" Tai had never heard Entreri speak in such a way, and his words were both surprising and curious. "What kind of lies?"

The assassin seemed increasingly uncomfortable. "Perhaps that you are weak. Or that you should have been able to defeat Mordecai and stop what happened. That you are powerless or that you some how brought this upon yourself."

Tai looked up at Entreri. "But I did make a mistake!" _I trusted Jarlaxle to look after me. I didn't fight well enough. I couldn't resist Mordecai's spell._

"'You must be perfect. Less than perfect gets you killed,'" Entreri said, almost as though he were quoting someone, and for a moment he seemed far, far away. But then he looked Tai in the eyes. "Humans make mistakes. Die human if you have to, but be human. There is no meaning, no purpose, to not being human."

Tai felt his eyes widen. Such words of wisdom! Did this mean that Entreri had faced his own past and gleaned insight from it? Had he charged in, sword raised, and fought off the pain and humiliation that Tai himself now felt?

Surely so. Entreri was a strong man. But if he had, then why was he so angry and bitter? Why had he not found the path to peace? Stillness of the mind? Joy?

"Well, you are an assassin," Tai mumbled aloud.

Entreri raised an eyebrow, likely assuming the comment was a reaction to his words about being human.

But no. What Tai saw was a man who had embraced darkness, had descended to the depths of hatred and violence . . .

_And a man who just wordlessly handed over his cloak because I'm cold._

"I worry for you," Tai said softly.

"Why?" The assassin smirked. "Your heart bleeds too much, my friend." He glanced away momentarily, gazing out into the night. "And mine, not enough." It was a whisper, and the priest decided that the admission had actually been a private one.

Tai clutched the weather-beaten cloak around his shoulders and deeply inhaled the scent of pine needles and leather once again. "It doesn't have to bleed for the whole world," he replied. _Just as long as it bleeds for me._

"Which is fortunate," Entreri snapped, "since it doesn't and never will."

But the words were lost on Tai, who was too busy feeling shocked by the possessiveness he was experiencing toward the assassin.

_Since when have I coveted someone's friendship?_ the priest asked himself.

_Since I found a survivor like me,_ his heart answered.

* * *

The _Kagaor ki Tamal._

The key to power; the key to salvation.

As he led Vren and the Tuin'Tarl soldiers through the winding saurian ruins, Mordecai cherished the thought of his mission, of its meaning and purpose, of its ramifications. To have been given such a task—and to hold such power in his hands—was an honor, a gift, and an opportunity Mordecai could not dismiss. And now, following ancient schematics for an ancient city, the cleric was making his way to the temple of Sseth to claim a powerful weapon in the shape of a mirror.

Mordecai could not keep the smile from his face.

Around the cleric and his companions, the interior of the ruins asserted their formidable presence. The floor was worn with both age and use, stones cracked and dirty from the endless slithering of saurian bodies. The vaulted ceiling arched a mile above their heads, reminding Mordecai of the vast caverns of his home, with one exception: magical torches sprung to life in each corridor the drow entered, unnecessarily lighting their way. However, as he directed Vren and the soldiers to a side passageway, Mordecai found himself impressed with the ruins. Though the buildings likely had been reduced to a shadow of their former grandeur, it wasn't hard for the cleric to imagine the city's splendor in centuries past.

Mordecai was so caught in his thoughts that it took him a moment to realize that Vren had halted. The delicate drow stood in the middle of the corridor, head tilted slightly as though listening. As his brow furrowed in concentration, the Secondboy grabbed one of his many small braids and wrapped it around his index finger.

_What do you hear?_ Mordecai signed in drow hand code.

Vren listened for a moment longer, then shook his head. _I don't know. I thought I may have heard footsteps behind us, but I am likely mistaken. These ruins are not stable, and the rocks themselves may shift of their own accord._

Although that was plausible, Mordecai knew better. It was more likely that Jarlaxle and his pets had arrived and were following close behind. He knew the drow mercenary well enough to believe that they had managed to locate the ruins quickly. The thought didn't disturb the cleric, however; defeating Jarlaxle was as simple as locating the _Kagaor ki Tamal_ first and unleashing its power on whomever stood in the way.

Satisfied, Mordecai signed, _Continue,_ then turned his attention to the walls around him.

The five drow moved in absolute silence along the hall, which had begun to slowly narrow, and stopped only to check for or disarm the occasional trap. Using a simple divine spell, Mordecai had drawn upon his god's power to detect traps in the structure. The three soldiers then dealt with them quickly, using their blades to trigger pressure plates in the floor, or—with deadly precision—using their crossbows to set off tripwires.

Mordecai observed with great interest the lack of a reset mechanism on the traps. Apparently the previous inhabitants had not been prepared to deal with more than one attack at a time. Perhaps that was for the better, Mordecai thought with a nasty grin. If Jarlaxle and the human assassin were to be killed, then Mordecai wished to do it with his own hands.

As the group moved deeper into the ruins, the sense of age and decay grew stronger. The walls were also changing, growing heavily ornamented with engravings and paintings. Vast panoramas of humanoid snakes in the midst of combat greeted the drow at every turn; it was obvious that they had moved far beyond the confines of the general residents. The careful detail spoke of much wealth in earlier times.

That wealth became suddenly frustrating, however, as the drow were halted in their tracks. The passageway that they had been in had narrowed to the point that Vren had been forced to carry his double-bladed sword vertically or risk scraping the keen blades against the surrounding stone. In front of them stood a golden door decorated in elaborate script and symbols that reminded Mordecai of the runes that often adorned noble drow houses. Careful inspection showed several acidic dart traps laced throughout the locking mechanism. The handle itself was a small snake, curved in a manner that made it easy to grab.

Nodding to one of the soldiers, Mordecai stepped back as the drow pulled out a lock pick and a block of wood and began work. A feeling of sudden unease swept over the cleric, causing him to reach for the pair of daggers sheathed on his thighs. In Mordecai's back pack, Cat shifted in her sleep, apparently also disturbed by whomever—or whatever—had just entered the passageway behind them. Like Vren, Mordecai now also heard the quiet movements in the vine- and mold-filled chambers and hallways around them.

_Be on guard,_ he signed to Vren, who had raised an eyebrow at him. _We are not alone._

The Secondboy nodded, shifting slowly into a fighting stance.

Then the sound came again, louder this time. Glancing around, Mordecai realized that something was out of place. There were holes in the stone, but not nearly large enough to account for the sudden drone that was filling the room. It was almost as though—

Reacting on instinct, Mordecai dropped to his knees as a black cloud burst from the wall to his left, passing over his head with a near-deafening buzz. Calling to his god, Mordecai recited a quick incantation to dispel illusions. Just as he suspected, the walls in the corridor immediately melted away to reveal a larger chamber with columns set where the illusionary corridor had once been.

The source of the attack was also revealed in the large nests that dotted the ceiling and floors of the chamber. The strange creatures that had made their home in the ruins buzzed angrily along the ceiling, their large leathery wings creating an audible flapping sound. With reddish, furry bodies and a two-foot wingspan, the beasts looked like the hybrid offspring of a bat and a mosquito.

There were a half-dozen of the strange creatures, and Mordecai knew—from having seen them once before in the forest—that the drow were lucky to have not stumbled upon a larger infestation. Six was more than enough to deal with.

Arming his crossbow, Mordecai commanded the rest of the drow to do the same. The two soldiers unoccupied with the door surrounded their companion, guarding his back as he worked to disarm the trap. Vren, apparently pleased to have more room to work in, brandished his sword and gave it a brief twirl in the air. The noise of the whirling blade mixed with the sound of flapping wings, a furor that echoed and spread through the chamber.

"Be on guard," Mordecai called out. "They feed upon blood and will pierce you where you are not protected."

Growling, Vren gave his double-bladed sword another twirl. "They will have to reach me first."

Then the creatures struck, launching from the ceiling in a harrowing corkscrew dive. Mordecai summoned a magical shield around himself that deflected one of the creatures to the side. The cleric caught sight of the beast as it passed him and noted the razor-tipped legs and long proboscis.

Wasting no time, Mordecai took aim with his crossbow and fired into the creature as it retreated. The bolt struck it the creature in the gut, breaking through the dirty yellow fur of the belly. The cleric smirked, for he had imbued his quarrels with a special magic to fit his fancy. Sure enough, after a moment, the creature exploded as a magic core in the bolt erupted within its internal organs. The remains crashed into the ground, creating a splatter of blood and mucus.

To the right, Vren had launched into a series of darts and stabs with his double blade, catching one beast through the body and sending another one careening towards the soldiers near the door. The impaled creature flapped frantically until Vren took the blade and smashed it against a pillar, scraping off the dead beast so that it slid along the stone toward the ground.

With two down, Mordecai turned his attention to the creatures that had yet to attack. Three still hovered high in the air, as if biding their time in order to gauge a proper course of action.

Mordecai himself required no time to think. Calling upon the divine power within him, the cleric cupped his hands and set his index fingers to a point, directing the tip towards the nearest of the strange insects. Black energy lanced from his fingers into the creature. The beast gave no indication of pain except to fall from the air and crash onto the flagstones. The remaining two, however, seemed enraged and launched toward Mordecai with growing speed and fury.

However, Vren was there to meet them; a rapid sequence of thrusts had both creatures skewered on his sword. Disgusted, the Secondboy used his foot to clean off the blades, crushing the beasts into a pulp of flesh and liquid under his boot. With a grimace, Vren flipped his braided hair over his shoulder and sneered at Mordecai. "What wonderful creatures to greet us." He patted his hair with one hand, as if to check for damage. "At least I do not have any blood or mucus in my hair."

Mordecai snorted but otherwise did not reply. Glancing back to the door, the cleric saw the sixth creature dead on the floor. One of the soldiers dabbed at a puncture wound on his neck and tossed the beast dirty looks, as though daring it to try and move again.

The third solider had opened the door, though, and the group had managed to escape serious injury. That thought was enough to remove any apprehension from Mordecai's mind, and with a smile, the cleric sauntered through the golden door into the expansive entryway beyond.

* * *

"Keep pace," Entreri ordered, tossing aside a tree branch with his arm. The assassin kept the group at a jog as they neared the ruins, and he would have forced them to run the rest of the way if the overgrown forest been less dense. 

Nyx didn't respond to the assassin's prodding, although she managed to stay in stride with him, but Tai lagged, no doubt feeling the effects of his less than restful sleep. Jarlaxle had offered to take point for once and preceded the group by ten feet.

Midday was approaching, and Entreri could _feel_ the fact they were running out of time. They needed to reach the ruins posthaste, or they had no chance of reaching Mordecai before he found the _Kagaor ki Tamal._ Entreri had no desire to see Mordecai attain any magical artifact, but more than that, he had a deep-seated urge to deny the cleric his goal and victory. The assassin had a running list of reasons to slowly kill Mordecai with much pain and torture, not the least of which was the cleric's attempted assault upon him, and with his victim likely so near, Entreri was losing patience.

Jarlaxle broke into a run, then, startling the rest of the companions. Entreri took off after him, outpacing Nyx and Tai in mere moments. Breaking through the tree line, the assassin halted suddenly and found himself overlooking a gaping pit that revealed building roofs and crumbling earth. Jarlaxle stood at the edge, peering over at the hundred-foot drop to the dirt, vines, and ruins below.

"Finally," was the assassin's only comment.

Jarlaxle was grinning, however, which made Entreri suspicious. "Indeed," the elf said, "we have reached our destination, and likely are on the heels of our adversaries. And when we have finished with them and have the mirror in our possession, what other wonders may we find?"

Entreri groaned. "Dare I even ask what you have been dreaming of since the moment you first heard of the mirror?"

Jarlaxle shrugged. "Shortly before Tai showed up and 'hired' us for this task, Kimmuriel had told me that Bregan D'aerthe scouts had been deployed to seek treasure in some surface ruins. I briefly wondered at the time whether these two incidents were connected, and as it turned out, they were. However, just because Mordecai betrayed Bregan D'aerthe and Kimmuriel decided to no longer pursue the artifacts doesn't mean that I can't benefit from said treasure."

Entreri shook his head. "Greedy bastard."

The elf wagged a finger. "Tsk, tsk. We've already established as much."

Entreri didn't reply, but he had to wonder if Jarlaxle had been dreaming of surface empires again, of perhaps trying once more to establish Bregan D'aerthe on the surface, except without the drow.

Knowing Jarlaxle, probably.

The flamboyant drow smiled at Entreri, his uncovered red eye sparkling with mirth, and briefly squeezed Entreri's arm. "No doubt it will be a great and profitable adventure!"

Nyx exited from the trees and walked straight up to Entreri. "What will be a great and profitable adventure? Killing Mordecai?" She snorted. "Great, maybe, but I'm not sure how profitable it will be."

Tai followed Nyx out and stood apart from the others. "Not great, either. Just necessary." He nodded toward the pit. "And we best not delay. How shall we enter the ruins?"

Jarlaxle nodded at the priest, then pulled a scroll from a belt pouch. "That will not be a problem." The elf unrolled the parchment, and Entreri tilted his head to read it. At first, nothing was there, then the plans of a city appeared on the scroll, drawing themselves from left to right. "Right then," Jarlaxle said after a moment. "Follow me."

Artemis Entreri sighed and held back the urge to strangle the elf. "But of course you'd have a map at your disposal. You and your blasted magical items."

Jarlaxle laughed.

* * *

The stone floor of the entryway, which Mordecai knew had to lead to the temple, spanned a hundred feet. At the end, the cleric could see a large double door that likely measured twenty feet tall at its arch. Throughout the entryway, thick stone columns reached from floor to ceiling, suspending the roof as well as the dirt above. The far walls seemed to recede into shadow and imbue the room with vastness, yet vines ran along the floor, proof of nature's overwhelming power to reclaim the earth. Still, the truth was that just a few dozen feet away lay the room where, by all accounts, the _Kagaor ki Tamal_ was housed. 

Reflexively checking for his daggers in an almost nervous gesture, Mordecai motioned for Vren and the other soldiers to follow him. He trod lightly at this point, making no discernible noise on the worn stone and tangle of rotting vines. The air was stale, musty with mildew and age, and his sixth sense reminded Mordecai they were not alone, although neither he nor his companions could detect signs of pursuit.

A suspended moment, a silent moment, burned forever into Mordecai's mind, hung and then passed. Before him, suddenly, were the towering doors. The wood was thinned and eaten, leaving small holes in the barricade, and the ornamental metal decorating the panels was rusted and even missing in places. Leaning in closely but carefully, wary of further traps, Mordecai brushed slender fingers against a particular carving that had caught his attention. It was a pair of snakes, bodies intertwined.

_This is it,_ Mordecai thought smugly, his heart racing. _I have succeeded._

Motioning again, Mordecai signed instructions to his men. _Follow closely, but do not touch anything without permission. Make no sudden moves._

Certain after his initial inspection that the entrance was not trapped, Mordecai braced both hands against the doors and pushed. The wood cracked under the pressure, and he felt the doors heave and splinter. A shrill screech penetrated the deep gloom of the inner sanctum, echoing off the stones and causing Vren to cringe and the other drow to reach for their ears. Then the rotted doors tumbled off their hinges to crash against the floor, creating a cloud of dust.

Even before the echo had faded, Mordecai peered into the blackness, using his darkvision to see into the sprawling temple. A high, sloping ramp imposed upon a larger portion of the room, its peak seemingly swallowed by the darkness above. Several banners hung from the walls, tattered and ruined to the point that the symbols on them were unidentifiable, and pieces of wooden furniture were scattered on the floor.

It looked more like a tomb than a temple, Mordecai thought, taking a careful step into the room and feeling the smooth floor for traps even as magical torches sprang to life. Despite the protection spells that he had summoned about him, the cleric still did not feel completely at ease. If the _Kagaor ki Tamal_ was as powerful as it was rumoured to be, then he had little doubt that its owners would have further dangerous mechanisms to guard it from outsiders. There was no sign of a trap under his feet, however, and with this in mind Mordecai began to walk faster. He could sense Vren close behind him and knew that the other three guards were wordlessly holding up the rear.

"This is too easy," Vren whispered, bringing Mordecai to a halt.

Turning to glare at the Secondboy, Mordecai replied, "Nothing is ever easy. The difficulty lies in finding where the danger truly is." He gestured at the stones. "This floor is untouched, unscathed. The walls are worn not from war, but age. This room was well-used and meant to be occupied; tell me, would the Matron Mother trap the floors of her own temple knowing that she and her priestesses would soon be occupying it?"

A flash of anger darkened Vren's expression. "I was merely suggesting caution in the face of your sudden rush."

Mordecai took a great pleasure in the Secondboy's embarrassment. "I assure you, I am forever cautious," he said, resuming his walk. "Now be silent, or may Lolth herself help you if you awaken whatever demons may reside in this place." Feeling Vren stiffen behind him was amusing indeed. As far as the cleric could tell, there was no hint of demons or other extraplanar creatures in the room, but Vren could not know that.

Since Mordecai hadn't the patience to physically search the room for the _Kagaor ki Tamal,_ he had brought with him a faster means of detecting the object he coveted. Reaching a hand into a belt pouch, the cleric withdrew a small garnet which was imbued with the ability to detect magic. The gem pulsed within his grasp, sending tendrils of heat into his fingertips and magical whispers into his mind. As the garnet worked, the room dissolved into a patchwork of blood red lines, pattern upon pattern forming until all Mordecai could see was a grid of moving light around him. The lines came together at an apex, converging at the top of the ramp—which was not limitless, he saw, but in fact magically shrouded—as a blinding red beacon.

Prize in sight, Mordecai snapped the jewel away and, using handcode, told his men to hold their positions. Then, slowly, he put one foot on the ramp. A patch of dust rose with it, thicker than on the rest of the ground, suggesting even less use than the rest of the room had seen. As Mordecai climbed upward, the air took on a strange quality, as though it had been purified of the dust only to be sedated with a thick magical aura. The gloom itself began to close in, and Mordecai found his hand wandering to a dagger if for no other reason than to reassure himself that he still existed in the quickly infringing dark. Determined, he continued upward.

Then, as suddenly as it had appeared, the veil lifted, and Mordecai found himself standing on a raised platform. A golden altar stood before him, covered with engravings, and behind that, set into the wall—

As soon as his eyes landed on the mirror, the trained paranoid inside Mordecai's heart screamed danger; hidden away in his backpack, Cat tensed and growled. The sound of scraping stone assaulted the cleric's ears, and he immediately launched into a prayer, asking his deity for protection and power. Divine might surged through him, feeding his senses further, allowing him to hear quite clearly the slap and thud of flesh against stone. Something other than drow moved in the veil of magical darkness below.

Alert, Mordecai glanced about once, then stalked forward toward the mirror. Arm outstretched, he prepared to utter a spell to summon it to him, only to find himself stopped mid-stride by an invisible force. A snarl escaped his lips, and he drew back, drawing upon the power of his god to expose the problem. A glow revealed the enchanted wall of solid glass before him, and the cleric knew his task would not be easy.

"Damn them," Mordecai spat. He was so close!

The noise of battle below drew the cleric's attention, and he was forced to leave the cursed illusion for more pressing matters. Closing his eyes so that all of his attention was focused on the sounds around him, he stepped off the platform and into the black cloud, daggers in hand and mind racing furiously with strategies for whatever lay beyond. As Mordecai levitated downward, the grunts and commotion of combat drew louder but the dark shroud enclosing the ramp did not fade. When his feet touched the ground, the cleric realized that the unnatural, magical darkness had spread lower, immersing the entire room so that no drow could see through it.

To any other creature it might have been a devastating tactic, but to a drow, the lack of sight was only a minor inconvenience. Attuned hearing and experience with such darkness compensated for the problem, and as Mordecai listened carefully, he was able to make out the general locations of his comrades. Ten feet to his left, something scratched hard against the floor, almost as if metal were scraping against stone, and Mordecai leapt to the side, narrowly avoiding being crushed. He felt the wind as the object passed, and heard the sound of stone being shattered beneath his feet. He also heard one of the soldiers shout, then the sound of a crossbolt quarrel being fired, and finally the first hint of the beast itself. A guttural hiss filled the room, a noise too loud for Mordecai's liking, but familiar nonetheless. A snake.

Mordecai's hearing alerted him to the rushing sound that accompanied an incoming object. Although he was familiar with snakes, he had never encountered any quite as big as the monster that logic suggested made the hiss. To summon that kind of air, the creature had to be at least thirty feet long, with a body the width of a large tree. As the creature approached, Mordecai bent, lowering his center of gravity in an attempt to dodge the snake. However, the tail knocked into his shoulder, sending him crashing to the ground.

Almost instantly the whooshing noise came again, and the bruised Mordecai jumped to his feet and readied himself. Summoning a burst of divine energy through his body and into his daggers, his stabbed upwards, catching scaly flesh. The weapons cut through the skin, sinking in past the hilt and drawing another howl from the creature. Thick liquid ran down the blades and onto Mordecai's hands. Jerking one of the daggers free, Mordecai sheathed it and then traced a divine symbol into the air. Whispering a curse, the cleric then directed his palm upward into the hole where the dagger had been.

As the divine energy blasted from his hand, Mordecai felt the creature melt away from him, upward at first, then back down to him in a spray of blood. The room was beginning to stink of iron, the scent of the blood pervading the room and filling his nose.

The snake shuddered then, and Mordecai was suddenly thrown upward, his remaining hand and dagger still immersed in the creature's body, as the snake arched in agony. As the body fell downward again, Mordecai used his remaining balance to plant his feet firmly on the creature and wrench the dagger out of its flesh. The moment that the creature hit the ground, Mordecai jumped free, using gravity to pull him downward in a tight roll in the direction away from the snake—a roll that reminded him of the growing bruise upon his shoulder. This action also won him a screech from Cat, who clawed free of Mordecai's backpack as soon as he regained his feet and then streaked away.

Behind him, Mordecai heard Vren cursing loudly. There was the sound of swinging metal, then a series of sickening thumps as metal connected again with flesh. Slowly, the hissing of the monster decreased, until its death thralls faded away into silence. The only remaining sound was the beating of Mordecai's own heart, faster than he would have liked, but beating even so. He had survived; that was all that mattered.

Moments later, the black cover lifted, revealing once again the ruined confines of the altar room. Mordecai gazed around at the mess, eyes wandering to the pieces of flesh that were now oozing blood onto the flag stones.

His spell had been effective, he realized, as he gazed upon the snake's carcass. Its middle was all but missing, a tangle of bone and internal organs where the divine power had burned. Several pierce marks drew a line from that towards its triangular head, where an equally bruised Vren stood, poised, his double-bladed sword still crimson. Blood seeped from one of the snake's eyes, a quarrel embedded deep within it, while the other eye glared back at Mordecai, the pupil a shape that was strangely familiar; a cat's eye, he noted, much the same as Cat bore herself.

"Foul creature," Vren spat, staking his sword into the snake's head one last time. The other three soldiers, who were also bruised and even bloodied, seemed to share the Secondboy's sentiment.

"Foul perhaps," Mordecai said, noting with interest the long teeth extending from the creature's mouth, "but only doing what was bid of it. A good servant, you might say, protecting what is now rightfully ours."

Or, he thought with renewed excitement, what was now _his_. It was only a matter of minutes before the _Kagaor ki Tamal_ was in his hands, releasing him from Vren, the soldiers, and the confines of his falsified mission.

With that thought, Mordecai smirked and turned to the soldiers. His pleasure was short-lived, however, as Vren himself marched up the ramp and stopped parallel to the altar, apparently puzzled.

"There is a barrier here," Vren exclaimed from the stop of the ramp, which was now free of the darkness that had enshrouded it. "One of enchanted glass."

Swearing under his breath, Mordecai surveyed the room in wonderment. Too many delays! How would he disarm this trap?

The cleric frowned as his gaze fell on the snake and lingered on the pointed fangs. Something about them caught his attention, something not quite normal for the teeth of a mortal creature. Curious, Mordecai once again withdrew the magical gem from his belt pack, and he was surprised to see the faint outlines of glowing script on the right fang. The magic looped and swirled around the bone, obviously alive and active compared to the reptile it was bound to.

Snapping around, Mordecai said loudly, "Is there anything on the altar? Any placeholder or keyhole in the top or sides?"

He and the other soldiers watched as Vren checked the golden altar. The small drow paused briefly when he studied the top. He reached a slender hand down to the design in the center—two snakes wound around each other—then frowned.

"There appears to be an opening for some sort of ornament," the Secondboy replied.

Nodding, Mordecai reached out and grasped the snake's tooth in his hands. The bone was still warm to the touch but came out with ease when he applied pressure. A stream of clear liquid ran from the hole in the creature's mouth, and Mordecai jumped aside to avoid being sprayed by the toxic liquid. The tooth was now throbbing in his hands, sending a steady pulse of energy through his body. In his peripheral vision, he could see the soldiers step back, as though they too had felt the invisible tremor. The very life-force of the creature was in his fingers, his body, his very essence, and Mordecai embraced it, relishing in the sense of power and control that it brought him.

Silently, the cleric climbed the stone ramp, his very heartbeat seeming to align with the pulse of the tooth in his hands. When he reached the pinnacle and saw the altar and the hole that Vren had spoken of, Mordecai knew that he had succeeded. The tooth slid into the metallic slot easily, but the effect on the magic in the room was dramatic. The room seemed to mold and shape as Mordecai drew back from the altar. The air rippled and flexed around him, dragging stones and dirt and vines in and out of existence before re-stabilizing.

Electricity crackled in the air around Mordecai as he slowly walked towards the mirror. He passed the altar with no difficulty, as though the barrier had never existed, and did not stop until he stood mere inches from the object of his desire.

The mirror, the legendary _Kagaor ki Tamal_, glittered in front of him, untarnished by the wear of countless ages, seeping with the force and strength that he desired to wield. Mordecai could feel the wash of its magic around him, engulfing him, renewing the pulse of the snake's tooth tenfold, until all the cleric could hear was the throbbing of his own blood in his veins. Trembling with anticipation, Mordecai closed his eyes and, with outstretched arms, touched the mirror with his fingertips.

The world seemed to stop as he pulled the artifact from the wall. The mirror released an explosion of white light, piercing the room and the eyes of the soldiers. He heard Vren scream in agony, _felt_ as the other soldiers fell to their knees in pain. With the light came another form of sight, a vision that wrapped about his mind, granting him sight from blindness. The power of the _Kagaor ki Tamal_ was laid bare before him; he only need take it.

Unflinching even as his body was wracked with a strange and foreign torture of its own, Mordecai forced himself to look into the radiance, to embrace what was being given to him. The light began to fade then, but Mordecai knew better than to think it gone. He could feel it within him, ready to be unleashed on anyone who chose to oppose him and his masked god. A cry rose in his throat, transforming fast into a bark of laughter that echoed around the room, filling it with sound even as the light extinguished.

_Let it begin._


End file.
